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CHICAGO 


HAWAIIAN  LIFE 

BEING 
LAZY    LETTERS    FROM    LOW    LATITUDES 


BY 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

/*• 

AUTHOR  OF  "SOUTH  SEA  IDYLS,"    "MARSHALLED.  A  FLIGHT  INTO 
EGYPT,"  "THE  LEPERS  OF  MOLEKSI,"  ETC. 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY 

CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 

1894 


v 


Copyright  by 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

1894 


TO 

POLO,  BUD,  MOMONA,  AND  THE  KID, 
OF  STAG-RACKET  .BUNGALOW 

HONOLULU,  HAWAII, 

THIS  SOUVENIR  OF  THEIR  SOMETIME  PAL, 
WITH  HIS  ALOHA! 


CONTENTS. 


I.     FROM  A  CUPOLA 7 

II.     IN  A  HAMMOCK 13 

III.  ON  A  MAKAI  VERANDA 17 

IV.  THROUGH  THE  MOSQUITO  FLEET 

AND   AT  A    HULA-HULA 22 

V.     BY  THE  SEA 27 

VI.     UP  THE  VALE  OF  NUUANU 31 

VII.     AFLOAT 35 

VIII.     ASHORE 42 

IX.     A  SABBATICAL  MATINEE ,  48 

X.     A  POI-FEED 52 

XL     KAPENA 56 

XII.     THE  COLONIAL  TRANSIT 61 

XIII.  DAY  OF  REST 65 

XIV.  HIGHWAYS 69 

XV.     BY-WAYS 74 

XVI.     IN  THE  MARKKT-PLACE 79 

XVII.     AMONG  THE  WREATH  MAKERS.  83 
5 


CONTENTS 


XVIII.  FROM  A  STUDIO 86 

XIX.  FETES  AND  FURIES gi 

XX.  SIESTA 96 

XXI.  WITH  ALOHA! 103 

XXII.  How  THE  KING  CAME  HOME...    106 

XXIII.  IN  A  SUMMER  SEA 120 

XXIV.  A  VILLAGE  AND  A  HALF 136 

XXV.  IN  AND  OUT  OF  EDEN 150 

XXVI.  THE  LAND  OF  CANE 165 

XXVII.  UP  HALEAKALA 181 

XXVIII.  AFTERGLOW 193 

XXIX.  ON  THE  REEF 208 

XXX.  PLANTATION  DAYS 239 

XXXI.  THE  DRAMA  IN  DREAM-LAND...   262 


HAWAIIAN  LIFE 

OR 

LAZY    LETTERS    FROM    LOW    LATITUDES 
I. 

FROM  A  CUPOLA. 
HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

r^\O  you  remember,  dear  C  —  — ,  the  day 
when  you  and  I  sat  alone  in  this  glass 
house  and  heaved  a  stone  at  civilization,  busi- 
ness, worry,  and  the  world  in  general?  We 
heaved  it  fearlessly,  for  we  were  above  the 
tree-tops  and  out  of  reach;  even  had  our  vic- 
tims deigned  to  retaliate  we  might  have  still 
shouted  defiance,  for  were  we  not  prepared 
to  withstand  a  siege  in  the  cupola  with  ample 
rations  of  champagne  and  cigarettes? 

You  had  dropped   in    upon    us,  as   is    your 
7 


8  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

wont  at  intervals  while  vibrating  'twixt  the 
Australasian  colonies  and  the  California  coast, 
and  in  the  few  hours  we  spent  together  we 
rediscovered  the  little  kingdom,  and  restored 
it,  for  a  time  at  least,  to  its  original  and  beau- 
tiful barbarism. 

Do  you  remember  one  silver  strand  of  spi- 
der-web that  chanced  to  catch  our  eye?  It  was 
stretched  due  east  and  west  overhead  in  the 
cupola,  and  we  called  it  the  Tropic  of  Can- 
cer; and  weaving  a  Puck's  girdle  of  this  filmy 
fabric,  we  fled  in  imagination  over  sea  and 
shore  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  circumnavigation. 
How  we  laughed  to  scorn  the  ignorance  of 
those  who  know  us  not,  and  reviled  the  ama- 
teur geographer  who  vainly  confounds  us  with 
Tahiti,  or  sweeps  us  away  toward  New  Guinea 
and  the  uttermost  parts. 

Following  our  air-line  eastward,  we  tripped 
on  the  tail  of  Lower  California,  plunged 
through  the  heart  of  Mexico  into  the  Carib- 
bean Sea,  dashed  across  Cuba,  and  were  lost 
in  the  Atlantic;  then  we  returned  for  a  sea- 
son, but  rested  only  long  enough  to  roll  a  fresh 
cigarette,  when  we  took  wing  for  the  Orient 
— and  such  an  Orient!  Through  the  solitary 


FKUlvi    A    CUPOLA  9 

sea,  crossing  the  track  of  Laputa,  the  "Flying 
Island,"  just  escaping  Luggnagg — sorrowfully 
enough,  for  "the  Luggnaggers  are  a  polite  and 
generous  people,"  says  Gulliver — we  saw 
Hong  Kong,  Calcutta,  Mecca,  and,  beyond 
the  Red  Sea,  the  Nile  waters  and  the  meas- 
ureless sands  of  Sahara. 

What  a  rosary  we  strung  on  that  glimmer- 
ing thread.  And  then  we  held  our  breath 
for  a  moment,  when  we  thought  how  above 
us  and  below  us  rolled  the  everlasting  deep 
from  pole  to  pole. 

O  Hawaii!  Hawaii  Nei!  Cinderella  among 
nations;  a  handful  of  ashes  on  a  coral  hearth 
slowly  fructifying  in  the  sun  and  dews  of  an 
eternal  summer.  How  lonesome  you  are  and 
how  lovely!  and  how  we  who  have  known 
you  and  departed  from  you  come  back  again 
with  the  love  that  is  yours  alone.  At  least, 
C—  -  and  I  do,  don't  we? 

You  are  t'other  side  o'  the  line  now,  old  fel- 
low, on  the  edge  of  that  great  continent  which 
is  as  yet  not  half  explored ;  the  kangaroo  is 
your  playmate  and  the  serpent  your  bed-fel- 
low; do  you  ever  think  of  us  who  have  no 
game  more  majestic  than  the  mosquito? 


10  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Here,  as  you  know,  the  noblest  victim  of  the 
chase  is  the  agile  flea;  now  and  again,  though 
rarely,  appears  that  chain  of  unpleasant  cir- 
cumstances, the  centipede;  or  perchance  the 
devil-tailed  scorpion,  whose  stroke  is  by  no 
means  fatal,  reminds  us  that  nothing  can 
touch  us  further.  And  indeed,  but  for  these 
foreign  invaders  this  life  were  almost  too 
Edenesque.  The  marvelous  temperature, 
which  is  never  hot  and  never  cold;  the  rich 
and  variable  color;  the  fragrance  so  intense 
after  a  shower,  when  the  ginger  and  the  Jap- 
anese lily  seem  to  distil  perfume  drop  by  drop; 
the  tinkle  of  gay  guitars;  the  spray-like  notes 
dashed  from  shuddering  lute-strings;  the  irre- 
proachable languor  of  a  race  that  is  the  in- 
carnation of  all  these  elements — this  is  quite 
as  much  as  man  wants  here  below — latitude 
2\  IS'  23"  north;  longitude  157'  48'  45" 
west;  and  all  this  he  has  without  the  asking. 
What  if  the  impertinent  minas  perch  upon  the 
roof  and  fill  the  attic  with  strange  noises? 
What  if  they  infest  the  groves  at  twilight,  and 
deluge  the  land  with  cascades  of  silvery  sound? 
They  are  a  pert  bird,  that  has  rid  the  king- 
dom of  its  caterpillars,  and  now  they  propose 


FROM    A    CUPOLA  I  1 

to    luxuriate    for    the    rest    of    their    natural 
lives. 

I  think  it  was  the  war-whoop  of  a  mina 
perched  upon  our  window-sill  that  called  our 
attention  to  old  Diamond  Head — Leahi  is  the 
Hawaiian  name  for  that  fine  promontory— 
which  at  that  moment  was  glowing  like  a  live 
coal;  it  was  the  picture  of  the  ideal  red-hot 
volcano  with  the  smoke  rubbed  out;  there 
was  a  strip  of  beryl  sea  beyond  it,  and  at  its 
feet  a  great  plain,  shaded  by  feathery  algaroba 
trees;  this  was  framed  in  the  sashes  on-  one 
side  of  the  cupola. 

On  another  side  mountain  peaks  buried 
their  brows  in  clouds  that  wept  copiously — so 
sentimental  was  the  hour  of  our  communion; 
forests  of  the  juiciest  green  drank  those  show- 
ers of  tears;  Tantalus  the  lofty  one  and  his 
brother  peaks  never  looked  more  sublime. 

Turning  again,  we  saw  the  sunburnt  hills 
beyond  Palama,  and  the  crisp  cones  of  small 
volcanoes,  and  more  sea,  and  then  the  ex- 
quisite outline  of  the  Waianae  Mountains,  of 
a  warm,  dusty  purple,  and  with  a  film  of 
diffused  rainbows  floating  in  the  middle  dist- 
ance. 


12  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

There  was  but  one  other  window  left;  it 
opened  upon  a  sea  stretching  to  the  horizon 
and  mingling  with  the  sky;  a  shore  fringed 
with  tapering  masts  and  the  crests  of  sentinel 
palms,  and  beneath  us  the  city  submerged  in 
billowy  foliage,  through  which  the  wind  stirred 
in  gusts  and  eddies. 

Our  experience  was  ended — our  experience 
bound  in  green  and  gold:  the  green  of  the 
grassy  hills  and  the  gold  of  the  sunset  sea.  We 
had  monoplized  the  cupola  to  the  despair  of 
those  guests  who  fly  to  it  as  to  a  haven  of  rest; 
but  there  was  no  further  thought  of  monopoly 
in  our  minds,  for  the  afterglow  was  over- 
whelming, and  already  from  the  cool  corri- 
dors of  the  caravansary — a  caravansary  that 
in  its  architecture  reminds  one  of  Singapore — 
sweetly  and  silently  ascended  the  incense  of 
the  evening  meal.  .  .  . 


if. 

IN  A  HAMMOCK. 
HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 
S,  my  friend,  it  hangs  in  the  same  corner 
of  the  top  veranda,  and  swings  to-day  as 
it  swung  the  day  when  you  lay  in  it  under    a 
fleecy  wrap  and  a  be-butterflied  Japanese  par- 
asol. 

It  has  its  vicissitudes,  this  hammock.  Some- 
times it  is  a  pale  invalid  who  retires  into  it  as 
into  a  chrysalis,  and  is  rocked  to  and  fro  in 
the  wind;  then  the  sympathetic  and  the  socia- 
ble gather  about  it  and  subject  the  patient 
to  the  smoke-cure — of  course  "by  special 
command" — or  the  mint-julep  cure,  or  to  bits 
of  frivolous  converse  thrown  in  between  the 
numbers  of  a  matinee-reception-concert  at 
the  Princess  Regent's,  or  a  band  night  at 
Emma  Square.  Sometimes  a  bewildered 
guest  from  the  colonies  or  elsewhere  rolls  into 
it  and  sleeps  with  all  his  might  and  main. 
13 


14  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Sometimes  a  whole  row  of  children  trail  their 
slim  legs  over  the  side  of  it — which  is  all  that 
saves  them  from  being  compared  to  peas  in  a 
pod.  But  to-day  I  inhabit  with  a  pencil  and 
lap-tablet,  and  nothing  but  a  convulsion  of 
nature  shall  drive  me  hence. 

The  breeze  is  blowing  fresh  from  the  mount- 
ain, the  health-giving  trade-wind.  I  can  look 
right  up  the  green  glade  which  is  the  gateway 
to  Tantalus,  and  see  the  clouds  torn  to  shreds 
across  the  wooded  highlands.  Have  been 
watching  a  crew  of  men-o'-wars-men,  in  dazz- 
ling white  duck  trousers  climbing  the  brown 
slopes  of  Punch  Bowl;  watching  the  mango 
trees  where  the  mangoes  hang  like  bronze 
plummets;  the  monkey-pods  are  in  bloom,  and 
their  tops  resemble  terraced  gardens;  now 
and  again  the  kamani  sheds  a  huge  leaf  as  big 
as  a  beefsteak,  and  as  red  also;  but  what  are 
these  splashes  of  color  to  the  Ponciana  Regia 
— it  is  a  conflagration!  The  Bourgainvillea% 
a  cataract  of  magenta  blossoms  that  looks  like 
artificial  leaves  just  out  of  a  chemical  bath, 
obtrudes  itself  at  intervals;  it  is  the  only  crude 
bit  of  color  in  a  landscape  where  the  majority 
of  the  trees  are  colossal  bouquets  at  one  sea- 


IN    A    HAMMOCK  l  5 

son  or  another.  The  hibiscus  is  aglow  with 
flowers  of  flame  the  most  of  the  year,  and  the 
land  is  overrun  with  brilliant  creepers,  even 
to  the  eaves  of  the  hotel  where  the  birds  quar- 
rel and  call  noisily  from  dawn  to  dusk.  But 
why  particularize?  All  this  you  know;  all 
this  you  saw  when  your  end  of  the  veranda 
was  curtained  and  set  apart,  a  nook  for 
loungers  in  a  land  where  all  mankind  lounges 
a  portion  of  the  day;  where  it  is  not  consid- 
ered indelicate  for  a  merchant  to  pose  in  the 
midst  of  his  merchandise  guiltless  of  coat  and 
vest,  for  his  respectability  is  established  beyond 
question,  and  his  bank  account  a  patent  fact; 
where  ladies  drive  in  morning  dishabille,  and 
shop  on  the  curbstone  without  alighting  from 
their  carriages,  and  where  any  of  them  may 
pay  an  evening  call  unbonneted  and  unat- 
tended. 

Now  those  sailor  boys  are  perched  upon 
the  rim  of  Punch  Bowl,  like  a  row  of  penguins; 
the  distant  mountains  are  glossed  with  frag- 
mentary rainbows,  and  there  are  unmistak- 
able symptoms  of  an  afterglow. 

Through  verdant  vistas  I  catch  glimpses  of 
the  cavalcade  that  always  enlivens  this  hour, 


1 6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

and  down  the  shaded  avenues  that  lie  be- 
tween the  hotel  cottages  troop  the  returning 
guests;  she  who  has  rocked  at  her  doorway — 
the  Venetian  blinds  thrown  wide  apart — all 
day,  involved  in  the  toils  of  the  Kensington 
stitch,  has  passed  within  doors  to  smooth  her 
ribbons  before  dining;  a  card-party  in  the 
middle  distance — surely  it  could  not  have  been 
whist — has  broken  up  with  much  show  of  good 
feeling;  children  are  pelting  one  another  with 
flowers  among  the  balconies,  to  the  dumb 
horror  of  a  coolie  in  white  raiment  and  despair. 

I  hear  a  piano  in  the  distance,  and  recall  a 
voice  that  is  stilled;  and  I  feel,  all  at  once, 
that  the  transfusive  air  is  throbbing  with  light 
— the  light  that  is  as  fleeting  and  as  fascina- 
ting as  a  blush;  "the  light  that  never  was  on 
sea" — but  I  spare  you  the  rest  of  the  quota- 
tion; the  light  that  at  any  rate  transfigures 
all  things,  beautifies  all  things,  glorifies  all 
things,  and  makes  this  hour  the  most  exquis- 
itely sentimental  and  pathetic  of  the  four  and 
twenty. 

The  light,  by  Jove!  that  has  gone  out  while 
I've  been  endeavoring  to  wind  up  this  lazy 
scrawl. 


Y 


III. 

ON  A  MAKAl  VERANDA. 

HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

OU  wonder  how  we  kill  time  in  the  trop- 
ics, dear  boy?  We  never  kill  it;  we 
never  get  quite  enough  of  it,  and  murder  were 
out  of  the  question.  Time  with  us  flows  softly 
and  swiftly,  like  a  river,  and  we  drift  with  it. 
It  were  vain  to  struggle  against  this  stream; 
those  who  attempt  it  die  young  and  pass  out 
of  memory;  but  we  who  drift  without  rudder 
or  compass  find  the  first  light  of  dawn  flaring 
up  into  the  zenith  before  we  are  aware,  and 
anon  it  is  flickering  in  the  west,  and  day  is  over 
and  gone.  We  may  not  have  made  any  vis- 
ible effort;  we  certainly  have  not  hurried  our- 
selves, but  you  will  find  upon  investigation 
that  we  have  accomplished  fully  as  much  as 
you  would  were  you  here  with  your  high-pres- 
sure engine  in  full  blast. 

When  evening  comes  we  repose.  Repose 
1? 


I  8  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

is  not  to  be  thought  of  in  your  country;  we 
repose  mightily.  The  shops  are  shut  up  after 
dark,  nearly  all  of  them;  why  should  business 
transactions  be  extended  into  the  night  when 
they  can  just  as  well  be  accomplished  during 
the  day,  and  in  a  very  few  hours  of  the  day? 
You  are  probably  at  this  moment  pitying  the 
poor  salesman  on  some  down-town  business 
street,  or  trying  to  sit  out  some  play  at  the 
theater,  or  boring  yourself  at  the  club,  or 
wondering  what  you  can  do  next  to  fill  up  the 
hours  until  bedtime.  Alas  for  you  and  the 
likes  of  you! 

At  the  present  writing  my  friends  are  chat- 
ting upon  the  Makai  veranda — that  is  the 
veranda  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  hotel. 
Troops  of  people  are  constantly  arriving  and 
meeting,  with  mutual  compliments;  the  veran- 
das are  speedily  filled,  so  are  the  settees  upon 
the  lawn,  where  foreigners  and  natives  in  great 
numbers  are  swarming  like  bees  and  buzzing 
like  them. 

It  is  Monday  evening;  the  customary  open- 
air  concert  is  about  to  take  place;  in  the  il- 
luminated kiosque  Professor  Berger  and  his 
clever  native  lads  are  adjusting  their  instru 


ON    A    MAKAI    VERANDA  19 

ments;  the  avenues  leading  to  and  from  the 
hotel  are  lined  with  flambeaux,  the  verandas 
are  also  lighted,  and  the  gathering  of  youth  and 
beauty — pardon  me,  it  is  quite  the  thing  for 
Honolulu  society  to  do  the  open-air  concerts, 
and  therefore  I  will  go  farther — I  will  add  and 
of  fair  women  and  brave  men,  together  with 
groups  of  ministers,  commissioners,  naval 
officers,  etc. ;  the  multitudes  who  prefer  to 
lounge  about  under  the  trees,  the  native  pop- 
ulace that  seems  to  pasture  upon  the  sward, 
the  soft  air,  the  moonlight  sifting  through 
leafy  canopies — all  this  is  quite  enchanting, 
and  it  never  losss  its  charm. 

The  band  plays  delightfully;  applause  fol- 
lows; the  audience  is  attentive  and  apprecia- 
tive, especially  the  native  portion,  for  the 
Hawaiians  are  passionately  fond  of  music,  and 
they  have  not  learned  the  art  of  conversing 
audibly  to  a  musical  accompaniment. 

An  English  brougham  approaches ;  a  portly 
gentleman  alights;  it  is  Kalakaua  in  citizen's 
dress;  he  is  graciously  received  with  the  scrap- 
ing of  chair  legs — for  the  veranda  is  crowded ; 
and  much  fluttering  of  fans — for  the  ladies  are 
en  masse. 


2O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Later  in  the  evening  I  hear  the  suggestive 
popping  of  corks — a  sweet  reminder;  cigar- 
ettes have  burned  unceasingly — does  it  recall 
the  Champs  Elysees?  A  brief  shower  sweeps 
over  us,  but  it  is  only  sufficient  to  cool  the' air; 
we  don't  even  deign  to  notice  it. 

Now  the  band  boys  sing  a  plaintive  refrain, 
andante,  sotto  vocc,  etc.,  etc.;  wonderfully 
pleasing  are  these  self-taught  singers,  and 
quite  without  the  affectations  of  the  more  cul- 
tivated; down  one  of  the  side  streets  passes 
a  troop  of  troubadours  strumming  a  staccato 
measure  that  dies  away  in  the  distance  like  a 
shower  of  sparks.  A  delicious  waltz  reels  out 
from  the  kiosque,and  the  parlor  is  at  once  filled 
with  dancers — encore,  encore,  it  is  a  night  for 
music  and  mirth!  In  the  intervals  of  silence, 
I  hear  the  click  of  billiard-balls  and  the  huzzas 
of  the  victors;  and  now  approaches  a  troop 
of  horse;  ladies  in  native  costume  bestride 
them;  a  few  gentlemen  escorts,  unusually 
dusky  in  the  dusk,  await  the  pleasure  of  the 
chief  horsewoman,  who  anon  gallops  away — 
Whist!  a  princess,  beguiled  by  the  latest  hit 
of  Lecocq,  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  moon- 
light, and  then  vanished  away. 


ON    A    MAKAI    VERANDA  21 

But  a  truce  to  this,  my  boy;  you  must  be 
already  asleep,  as  I  shall  be  a  few  moments 
hence,  for  the  Makai  veranda  is  now  thunder- 
ous with  the  footsteps  of  departing  guests. 


IV. 

THROUGH  THE  MOSQUITO  FLEET  AND  A 
HULA— HULA 

HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,   HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

/^AMERADO!  It  is  not  necessary  for  you 
to  remind  me  of  our  cruise  in  the  Mos- 
quito Fleet;  every  returning  moon  revives  a 
memory  that  age  cannot  wither  nor  custom 
stale;  but  did  I  tell  you  of  the  origin  of  the 
name  that  will  long  be  associated  with  a  very 
central  yet  very  secret  quarter  of  this  beauti- 
ful burg?  -Well,  in  the  beginning  was  the 
kalo-patch.  Nothing  can  be  prettier  than  a 
well-kept  kalo-patch;  a  lake  full  of  calla-lilies, 
deflowered,  might  resemble  it;  when  seen 
from  a  little  distance,  and  especially  from  a 
height,  a  disk  of  burnished  silver,  across  which 
green-enameled  arrow-headed  leaves  in  high 
relief  are  set  apart  in  lozenge  pattern,  could 
not  be  more  attractive;  but  the  trail  of  the 
mosquito  is  over  them  all. 

There  was  a  time  when  the    narrow,  paths 


THROUGH    THE    MOSQUITO    FLEET  23 

that  ran  between  the  kalo-patches  in  the  quar- 
ter of  which  I  write  led  from  one  grass  house 
to  another;  grass  houses,  like  mushrooms, 
crop  up  almost  anywhere,  but  especially  be- 
side still  waters;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
a  little  village  like  a  toy  Venice  sat  watching 
its  reflection  in  the  unruffled  waters  of  the 
kalo-patches,  and  the  voice  of  the  multitudin- 
ous mosquito  in  that  vicinity  was  like  a  chorus 
of  buzz-saws;  the  place  was  known  to  Jack 
ashore  as  the  Mosquito  Fleet,  and  therein  his 
feet  went  astray  with  alacrity  and  the  charm- 
ers that  charmed  never  so  wisely. 

The  kalo,  as  you  know,  was  long  since 
pulled  and  beaten  and  eaten  in  fistfuls  of  suc- 
culent poi\  the  patches  have  been  filled  in  and 
sodded  over,  and  the  grass  houses  have  given 
place  to  miserable  wooden  shanties,  but  the 
original  crookedness  of  the  lane  that  led  to 
destruction  is  preserved.  The  way  is  not 
broad;  on  the  contrary,  it  could  hardly  be 
narrower,  but  many  there  be  who  go  in 
thereat — as  we  went  once  upon  a  time  to  spy 
out  the  land,  and  take  note  of  one  of  the  most 
unique  quarters  in  Honolulu. 

What  a  worm  i'  the  bud  it  is!   the  church- 


24  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

going  bells  toll  over  it;  the  rear  walls  of  highly 
respectable  residences  bear  upon  it;  it  is 
within  the  shadow  of  the  palace  of  the  late 
Princess  Ruth,  the  last  of  the  Kamehamehas; 
and  Emma  Square,  with  its  mimosas  and 
palms,  matinee  music  and  applause,  actually 
faces  it.  But  what  of  all  this?  If  you  were 
alone  at  the  mouth  of  the  mysterious  path 
that  winds  through  the  Mosquito  Fleet,  'tis  so 
evasive  you  would  unconsciously  turn  from  it, 
would  you  not? 

We  made  accidental  entrance  on  one  occa- 
sion, and  traversed  what  appeared  to  be  a 
cul-de-sac ;  at  the  last  moment  we  were  shifted 
as  if  by  magic  into  a  passage  hardly  broader 
than  our  shoulders,  and  twenty  paces  long. 
Suddenly  a  diminutive  village  sprang  up  about 
us;  we  felt  like  discoverers,  and  wandered 
jubilantly  about  among  houses  with  strips  of 
gardens  nestling  between  them,  and  all  fitted 
together  like  the  bits  of  a  Chinese  puzzle. 
Now  it  was  quite  impossible  to  be  certain  of 
anything;  for  the  lane,  which  seemed  without 
beginning  and  without  end,  turned  unexpected 
corners  with  bewildering  frequency,  and 
though  we  succeeded  in  threading  the  peril- 


THROUGH    THE    MOSQUITO    FLEET  25 

ous  mazes,  the  wonder  is  that  we  did  not 
stumble  into  windows  that  opened  upon  us  or 
through  doors  that  blocked  the  way.  We 
met  no  one  in  that  narrow  path;  had  we  done 
so  one  or  the  other  must  needs  have  backed 
out,  or  vaulted  the  fence  beyond  which  it 
were  not  seemly  to  penetrate. 

There  was  music,  as  there  always  is  music 
where  two  or  three  natives  are  gathered  to- 
gether— the  chant,  half  nasal,  half  guttural, 
such  as  the  mud-wasp  makes  in  his  cell,  re- 
lieved by  the  boom  of  the  agitated  calabash— 
which  reminds  me: 

Not  many  moons  ago  came  an  ancient  mari- 
ner. He  had  seen  the  world,  and  was 
aweary;  but  a  hula-kula  had  never  gladdened 
his  eyes;  so  a  hula  was  at  once  appointed  in 
a  dingy  house  off  from  one  of  the  joints  of  the 
labyrinth  in  Mosquito  Fleet. 

It  was  a  long  low  room,  dimly  lighted; 
male  musicians  squatted  on  the  floor  against 
the  wall;  female  dancers  posed  in  front  of 
them;  lamps  were  ranged  before  their  feet 
like  footlights;  the  ancient  mariner  and  his 
companions  reclined  upon  musty  divans  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room. 


26  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

There  is  nothing  more  exhilarating  than 
the  clang  of  gourds,  half  a  dozen  of  them, 
tossing  in  the  air  and  being  beaten  by  savage 
palms;  and  this  to  the  running  accompani- 
ment of  voices 'that  are  precipitated  by  the 
concussion  of  savage  throats.  You  mark  its 
effect  upon  the  Jmla  dancers  as  the  evening 
wanes;  the  tireless  hands  and  feet,  the  quiv- 
ering limbs,  the  convulsions  that  succeed  one 
another  with  ever-increasing  violence;  the 
extraordinary  abdominal  gyrations;  the  semi- 
nude  gymnastical  rivalry  that  ultimately 
plunges  the  dancers  into  paroxysms  that  far 
outstrip  the  sensuous  ecstasies  of  the  whirling 
dervish — but  it  is  quite  impossible  to  describe 
a  hula;  moreover,  the  improprieties  are  mute 
according  to  law  after  10  P.  M.,  and  by  that 
time  the  room  we  occupied  was  like  a  sweat- 
box;  windows  and  doors  packed  full  of 
strange,  wild  faces,  and  the  frequent  police 
gently  soothing  the  clamoring  populace  with- 
out, who,  having  eyes,  saw  not,  which  is  prob- 
ably the  acme  of  aggravation.  But  there  we 
drew  a  line,  and  lo!  it  was  a  perfectly  straight 
one.  ,  . 


V. 

BY  THE  SEA. 
WAIKIKI  BY  THE  SEA,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

/V/I  y  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIENDS — When  you  have 
reached  the  mature  years  which  make 
the  easy  life  of  the  tropics  my  chief  joy,  you 
will  begin  to  realize  that  there  is  something 
quite  as  satisfactory  as  the  celebrated  domes- 
tic hearth  or  the  prospect  of  promotion  in  the 
army,  and  that  is  a  bachelor  bungalow  at 
Waikiki. 

That  it  is  within  easy  drive  of  the  capital 
is  not  enough;  that  it  is  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  park  and  the  race-track,  where  one 
may  secretly  speed  one's  trotter  before  day- 
break by  merely  turning  over  in  bed,  as  it 
were,  is  not  enough;  that  the  telephone  re- 
calls you  at  convenient  intervals  from  a  lotus 
dream,  which  otherwise  might  possibly  be 
eternal,  is  scarcely  sufficient  unto  the  day. 
But  a  Lanai  as  broad  as  it  is  long,  and  almost 
27 


28  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

if  not  quite  as  dazzling  as  a  transformation 
scene  in  the  pantomime  on  boxing  night; 
together  with  books  and  pictures  and  weird 
instruments  with  miraculous  bowels,  that  play 
of  their  own  accord  with  amiable  persistency; 
and  a  beach  as  white  and  as  firm  as  marble; 
and  canoes,  a  whole  fleet  of  them;  and  a 
real  reef  that  night  and  day  makes  moan,  and 
monkey  and  paradise  birds  and  all  the  deli- 
cacies of  the  season,  save  only  that  most  deli- 
cate of  all,  the  wife  of  a  fellow's  bosom — 
surely  this  is  enough  and  more  than  enough 
to  stay  one  for  a  season  or  two. 

Ah  me!  you  will  freeze  in  the  north  and  you 
will  sizzle  in  the  south,  while  I  luxuriate  upon 
the  half-shell  by  the  sea,  with  the  mercury 
serenely  ebbing  and  flowing  twixt  75  and  85 
degrees  the  whole  year  around. 

Of  course  nobody  works  hereabout;  they 
toil  not/  neither  do  they  spin;  they  only  im- 
agine they  are  busy,  and  in  this  frame  of 
mind  they  accomplish  just  as  much  in  the  end 
as  if  the  lash  of  the  task-master  were  over 
them  perpetually. 

When  mine  host  departs,  as  if  by  accident, 
somewhere  in  the  early  p.  M.,  pleading  a  busi- 


BY    THE   SEA  29 

ness  engagement  and  looking  rather  serious 
in  consequence,  it  is  his  little  joke,  and  I  at 
least  relish  it;  I  know  that  the  whole  town, 
the  business  portion  of  it,  runs  like  a  mechan- 
ical piano,  and  that  if  you  will  only  give  it 
time  some  one  or  another  will  wind  it  up,  and 
then  it  will  play  its  pretty  chorus  of  summer 
toil  as  gayly  as  if  it  were  so  many  bars  out  of 
a  light  opera,  a  jingle  of  musical  coin  that  is 
kept  up  till  5  P.  M.,  when  all  at  once  it  shuts 
up  or  runs  down,  and  life  at  the  beach  really 
begins.  It  begins  with  a  sunset  across  a 
tropic  sea,  and  a  twilight  that  seems  longer 
than  common  in  this  vicinity;  sometimes 
there  are  shadowy  ships  in  this  twilight,  and 
there  are  always  canoes  enough  afloat  to  make 
one  wish  to  quote  the  easy  lines  about  au- 
tumnal leaves  and  brooks  in  Vallambrosa. 

Then  comes  dinner,  and  then  moonlight 
and  music  on  sea  and  shore,  and  naked  fisher- 
men bearing  aloft  huge  torches  that  gild  their 
bronze-brown  bodies;  and  bathers  under  the 
stars,  and  torchlight  fishing  with  trusty  re- 
tainers in  our  host's  canoes  beyond  the  sil- 
very surf.  And  so  ends  the  evening  and 
morning  of  days  that  are  much  alike;  but  not 


30  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

for  worlds  would  we  vary  them,  especially 
such  nights  as  these  when  the  moon  is  an  opal 
and  the  stars  emeralds  and  the  whole  won- 
derful picture  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky  is  done 
in  seventeen  shades  of  green 


D 


VI. 

UP  THE  VALE  OF  NUU4NU. 

AT  THE  PALI. 

EAR  ABORIGINAL: — When  you  turned  your 
brawny  back  upon  the  bush,  resolved  to 
cast  your  lot  with  the  fell  Egyptian,  your 
ship  lay  in  our  harbor  for  six  sunny  hours. 
You  asked  me  what  there  was  to  be  seen  of 
merit  beyond  the  pretty  girls  on  the  pretty 
lawns  posing  aesthetically  at  tennis.  I  at 
once  suggested  a  drive  to  the  Pali,  for  the 
Pali  is  what  every  one  must  and  does  see; 
and,  more  than  this,  it  is  worth  seeing. 

We  drove,  you  and  she  and  I.  You  be- 
guiled me  with  tales  of  old  Australia,  for  you 
had  not  yet  cast  off  the  cloak  of  pride,  which  is 
colonial  to  a  degree.  *  But  when  we  had  quit 
the  town,  and  were  slowly  ascending  the  cool, 
green  valley  where  the  rapid  streams  gurgle 
by  the  roadside  and  the  valley  walls  grow  high 
and  steep  and  close;  where  the  convolvulus 
31 


32  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

tumbles  a  cataract  of  blossoms  at  your  feet, 
and  the  creepers  go  mad  and  swamp  a  whole 
forest  under  billows  of  green;  where  there  are 
leafy  hammocks  to  swing  in  and  leafy  towers 
to  climb  in  and  leafy  dungeons  to  bury  one- 
self out  of  sight  in — you  sprang  out  of  the 
carnage  and  rolled  in  the  grass  like  a  boy;  you 
drank  copious  draughts  of  delicious  mount- 
ain water  from  the  hollow  of  your  cork  hel- 
met; and  you  sent —yes  you  did! — you  sent 
Egypt  to  the  devil,  and  swore  to  abide  with 
us  forevermore.  A  shower  of  shining  rain 
didn't  dampen  your  ardor,  and  you  wanted 
to  take  root  just  where  you  were  and  flourish 
mightily  on  the  spot;  the  Pali  was  forgotten 
—we  were  not  yet  within  a  mile  of  it — and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  we  persuaded  you  to 
complete  a  pilgrimage  which  I  am  sure  you 
will  never  regret. 

Under  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock,  where  I 
am  now  writing,  we  sat  that  day;  for  a  long 
time  we  said  nothing;  I  don't  believe  that 
people  ever  talk  much  here.  In  the  first  place, 
it  \<>u  open  your  mouth  too  wide  you  can't 
shut  it  ;ii;;un  without  getting  under  the  lee  of 
something — the  wind  blows  so  hard.  But 


UP    THE    VALE    OF    NUUANU  33 

who  wants  to  talk  when  he  is  perched  on  the 
backbone  of  an  island,  with  fifteen  hundred 
feet  of  space  beneath  him,  and  the  birds 
swimming  in  it  like  winged  fish  in  a  transpar- 
ent sea? 

And  oh,  the  silent  land  beyond  the  heights, 
with -the  long,  long,  winding,  rocky  stairway 
leading  down  into  it.  No  sound  ever  comes 
from  that  beautiful  land,  not  even  from  the 
marvelously  blue  sea,  that  noiselessly  piles  its 
breakers  upon  the  shore  like  swan's-down. 

A  great  mountain  wall  divides  this  side  of 
the  island  of  Oahu  into  about  equal  parts.  It 
is  half  in  sunshine  and  half  in  shade;  on  the 
one  hand  is  the  metropolis,  on  the  other  semi- 
solitude  and  peace.  Peace,  a  visible,  tangible 
peace,  with  winding  roads  in  it,  and  patches 
of  bright  green  sugar-cane,  and  wee  villages 
and  palm  trees  upon  the  distant  shore.  It  is 
picturesque  in  form,  delicious  in  color.  Some- 
thing to  look  at  in  awe  and  wonderment,  and 
to  turn  from  at  last  with  a  doubt  as  to  its 
reality. 

It  is  all  precisely  as  you  left  it,  even  to  the 
microscopic  pilgrims  toiling  up  the  long  stair- 
way— fugitives  from  the  mysterious  land,  who 


34  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

we  are  surprised  to  find  resemble  us  not  a  lit- 
tle. While  some  come  back  to  us,  others  are 
going  thither — passing  down  into  the  silence 
and  the  serenity  of  the  enchanting  distance. 
And  so  this  little  world  wags  on  with  an  easy 
acquiescence,  unchangeable  and  unchanged, 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever. 

Your  ship  lay  in  the  harbor — a  harbor  that 
from  the  Pali  reminds  one  of  the  Vesuvian  Bay 
—and  you  hurried  away  to  your  Egypt,  leav- 
ing your  heart  here,  as  you  protested.  "A 
place  to  die  in,"  was  your  last  word  to  me; 
"I  will  return  and  give  up  the  ghost  in  peace." 

A  place  to  live  in,  O  prober  of  pyramids! 
Having  unriddled  the  Sphinx,  is  it  not  about 
time  to  think  of  taking  life  leisurely,  even  unto 
the  end?  . 


VII. 

AFLOAT. 

IN  HONOLULU  HARBOR. 

DELUDED  NAVIGATOR: — I  find  the 
log  of  your  canoe  club  uneventful.  What 
shall  it  profit  a  yachtsman  though  he  gain  a 
whole  length  in  a  race  from  Alaska  to  Mexico, 
and  lose  his  own  dinner  on  the  high  seas? 
Your  canoeist  is  burdened  with  disadvantages 
in  due  proportion.  The  boatmen  that  'buffet 
the  windy  waves  of  San  Francisco  Bay  are 
for  the  most  part  in  pickle;  and  I  have  not 
yet  forgotten  the  regattas  where  the  lads  were 
goose-fleshed,  and  the  lasses,  "for  all  their 
feathers,  were  a-cold."  It  likes  me  not;  I 
have  no  stomach  for  the  nautical  as  exempli- 
fied in  your  summer  cruising  on  raw  and  gusty 
Saturdays;  and  while  I  beg  pardon  of  the 
Chispa,  the  Viva,  and  the  Consuelo,  of  pleas- 
ant memory,  I  must  confess  it  was  nothing  to 
me  when  the  fleet  went  into  winter  quarters 
35 


36  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

on  some  obscure  mud-flat  where  the  chill  rip- 
ples slapped  it  under  the  bows  until  the  spring 
tides  came  in.  . 

Our  spirits  rise  with  the  full  moon  in  this 
latitude,  and  we  go  down  to  the  sea  in  pairs, 
with  a  guitar  balanced  upon  the  shoulder. 
There  is  a  dock  whereon  boats  lie  keel  upward 
in  the  moonlight;  where  the  air  is  pregnant 
with  the  odor  of  imported  lumber  and  of 
oakum  and  of  mellow  pitch.  A  few  broad, 
easy  steps  lead  down  to  the  water,  on  which 
a  skiff  is  floating,  apparently  in  mid-air,  for  it 
seems  scarcely  to  touch  the  water;  about  us 
tower  the  silhouettes  of  ships,  looking  very 
large  indeed,  and  with  tall  masts  that  almost 
touch  the  stars. 

There  is  not  a  sound;  there  is  no  one  vis- 
ible; we  seem  to  have  suddenly  become  a 
part  of  a  picture  which  was  incomplete  until 
we  entered.  Some  one  strums  a  guitar;  im- 
mediately a  boatman  is  materialized  out  of  a 
shadow;  he  draws  in  the  skiff  as  one  would 
draw  a  water-lily  by  the  stem;  hardly  a  word 
is  spoken;  it  is  like  a  fairy  interlude  wherein 
everything  is  done  to  slow  music — for  with  a 
guitar  in  hand,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  keep 


AFLOAT  37 

from  fondling  the  strings.  In  a  moment  we 
have  cast  off  and  are  drifting  away  in  space 
over  the  shadow  of  a  filmy  cloud  wherein  the 
stars  glimmer  like  pearls. 

There  are  two  belles  sharing  the  helm  be- 
tween them  ;  there  are  two  benedicts  who 
pull  languidly  at  the  oars;  and  there  are  two 
amidships,  one  who  cheers  the  crew  with 
song,  the  other,  your  confrere,  who  silently 
bewails  your  absence,  for  a  poet  alone  is  all 
that  is  necessary  to  perfect  our  happiness,  and 
you  know  I  divorced  the  muse  long  since. 

The  world  no  longer  wags  for  us;  we  ex- 
plore shadowy  inlets,  visit  remote  shores,  and 
never  cease  to  wonder  at  the  ease  arid  sud- 
denness with  which  we  reach  these  far-away 
lands;  it  is  as  if  our  bark  were  magical,  and 
we  all  under  a  spell.  We  discover  coral 
shoals  and  are  caught  sometimes  in  the  unex- 
pected antlers  of  the  coral — for  we  are  ad- 
venturers without  chart  or  compass.  We 
look  over  the  side  of  our  bark  to  see  how 
ghostly  the  under  world  is,  and  sometimes  to 
exclaim  at  the  colorless  beauty  of  those  sea- 
gardens,  where  the  fish  feed  and  fan  them- 
selves with  transparent,  quivering  fins. 


38  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

We  drift  out  toward  the  great  deep,  where 
it  falls  upon  the  reef  in  clouds  of  diamond 
dust,  and  there  we  are  for  the  first  time  con- 
scious of  the  long-drawn  suspiration  of  the 
sea,  and  begin  to  realize  a  sense  of  its  terrible 
reserve-power,  made  manifest  in  the  bilge 
swell  that  rolls  on  from  horizon  to  horizon 
without  once  breaking;  we  imagine  ourselves 
cast  away  in  mid-ocean,  prostrated  by  famine 
and  thirst,  and  with  the  shadow  of  impending 
death  hovering  over  us.  We  watch  each  bil- 
low as  it  bears  down  upon  us  and  lifts  us  very 
gently,  slipping  us  over  its  shoulder  and  let- 
ting us  slide  down  its  glossy  back;  there  is 
something  intoxicating  in  the  sense  of  light- 
ness that  possesses  us;  we  are  no  longer  sub- 
ject to  the  laws  of  gravitation;  we  soar  on 
the  wings  of  the  morning. 

It  is  growing  late,  or  rather  early,  for  the 
serene  night  has  known  no  flaw  since  we  em- 
barked unnumbered  hours  ago;  we  pull  up 
under  the  little  lighthouse,  that  seems  to  have 
waded  out  into  the  water  on  stilts  and  got 
stuck  there,  and  we  wonder  what  manner  of 
man  inhabits  it.  It  is  the  quaintest  little 
lighthouse  in  the  world,  and  seems  capable 


AFLOAT  39 

of  being  pulled  out  in  all  directions,  as  if  it 
were  a  conjurer's  box;  it  has  balconies  and 
dormer-roofs  and  adjustable  compartments, 
and  is  as  fantastic  as  a  Chinese  bird-cage,  in 
fair  weather;  but  it  can  shut  itself  up  turtle 
fashion  in  case  of  necessity,  and,  as  self  pres- 
ervation is  a  primal  law,  to  this  hour  I  am  not 
sure  that  it  does  not  sink  out  of  sight,  like 
the  nautilus,  when  the  winds  are  foul. 

We  touch  at  the  King's  boathouse,  speak 
the  royal  yacht — in  a  whisper,  for  she  seems  to 
be  asleep  upon  the  water;  we  run  under  the 
marine  railway— how  like  a  stranded  leviathan 
she  looks,  stripped  down  to  the  bone  and 
with  the  low  hanging  moon  shining  slantwise 
through  her  ribs!  We  think  how,  not  very 
many  years  ago,  the  harbor  was  packed  so 
full  of  Arctic  whalers  that  one  could  pass  the 
length  and  breadth  of  it  by  leaping  from  deck 
to  deck — but  this  was  before  the  steam  whaler 
and  the  explosive  harpoon  had  knocked  the 
bottom  out  of  Nantucket,  Martha's  Vineyard, 
and  New  Bedford.  We  think  also  of  another 
night  when  we  were  afloat  in  these  still  waters, 
and  off  yonder  a  Japanese  war-ship  lay  at  an- 
chor; while  we  were  watching  her  and  listen- 


40  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

ing  to  the  music  that  was  wafted  from  ship 
and  shore,  a  swarm  of  diminutive  sailors 
sprang  into  the  rigging,  each  with  a  light  in 
his  hand;  they  ran  like  sprites,  those  sailor 
boys,  to  the  peak  and  the  tips  of  the  spars, 
and  the  bulwarks  were  alive  with  them,  and 
then,  almost  before  we  knew  it,  the  ship-of- 
war  was  as  gorgeous  as  a  tiger-lily,  while  she 
floated  in  a  sea  as  red  as  wine.  It  was  the 
feast  of  lanterns,  and  all  too  soon  the  lights 
burned  out,  and  she  that  was  superbly  beau- 
tiful disappeared  like  a  phantom  ship  in  the 
darkest  night  of  the  season. 

In  this  mood  we  say  good-night  to  the  old 
wreck  on  the  reef — there  is  nothing  but  the 
spine  left  now — and  good-night  to  the  battered 
hulk  that  crept  into  the  harbor  after  a  gale 
had  torn  her  masts  out  by  the  roots  and 
shaken  her  screws  loose,  and  spread  her  tim- 
bers like  the  sticks  of  a  fan — but  now  she  is 
at  rest.  Then  we  look  again  and  again  upon 
the  misty  mountains,  the  shadowy  valleys,  and 
the  shining  shores,  and  we  think  how  the  in- 
visible world  that  the  sweet-souled  and  pa- 
tient blind  dwell  in  must  be  like  this;  a  world 
wherein  there  is  no  glare  of  day,  but  which 


AFLOAT  41 

is  always  slumbering  in  a  twilight  inexpressibly 
serene  and  of  an  unfading  beauty. 

O  poet!  you  who  make  your  "Ballads  of 
the  Bay,"  and  get  paid  for  them,  what  do  you 
know  of  all  this,  and,  not  knowing,  what  do 
you  care?  But  every  man  to  his  taste;  and 
as  for  us,  there  are  sandwiches  as  thin  as 
wafers,  a  salad  and  mulled  wine  awaiting  us 
up  the  valley.  Let  us  go  hence. 

The  Kid,  who  lately  joined  us  in  a  revery, 
has  once  more  turned  his  forehead  to  the  stars 
and  melodiously  salutes  them;  our  boatman  is 
growing  gray  upon  the  shore;  we  turn  our 
prow  homeward,  and  with  a  few  vigorous 
strokes,  that  flutter  the  phosphorescent  fire- 
flies of  the  sea,  we  come  in  with  the  tide  of 
song 


VIII. 

ASHORE. 

HONOLULU,  H,  I. 

CELLOW-STUDENT: — In  the  days  when  we 
used  to  lounge  among  the  shipping  and 
hide  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  bale  of  fragrant 
hay,  smoking  the  surreptitious  cigarette — with 
what  horror  we  saw  that  the  smoke  thereof 
was  likely  to  betray  us — I  believe  we  were 
never  so  happy  as  when  by  some  fortunate 
chance  we  found  ourselves  on  the  forecastle 
of  a  bark  just  in  from  Tahiti  or  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  and  heard  the  dark-skinned  sailors 
talking  together  in  an  unknown  tongue.  A 
faint  odor  of  spices  prevailed  there,  and  the 
shells  and  trinkets  the  sailors  gave  us  were 
long  preserved  in  our  juvenile  cabinets;  but 
we  have  each  of  us,  in  our  time,  played  many 
parts;  and  now,  insignificant  as  we  are,  it 
takes  both  Occident  and  Orient  to  hold  us. 
42 


ASHORE  43 

While  you  are  facing  the  footlights,  and, 
no  doubt,  getting  many  a  well-earned  round 
of  applause,  I  saunter  among  the  docks  in  the 
hot  sunshine  of  the  antipodes,  scenting  every- 
thing under  heaven,  from  sugar  to  sardines. 
There  is  the  fish  market  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  marine  railway,  with  its  margin  of  mud 
flats,  on  the  other,  and  between  the  two 
stretch  the  quarter-deck  awnings,  under  which 
it  is  a  luxury  to  lounge.  It  may  be  that  the 
small-fry  of  the  inter-island  fleet  are  not  pict- 
uresque, save  when  their  white  sails  glimmer 
in  a  distant  calm,  but  there  is  always  a  sug- 
gestion of  repose  about  them  as  they  lie  at  the 
docks  with  groups  of  languishing  natives  wilt- 
ing in  the  vicinity;  and  there  is  likewise  much 
gossip  and  laughter  mingling  with  the  odor  of 
Hawaiian  tobacco  and  cocoanut-oil;  as  for 
the  crews  of  these  craft,  they  seem  to  be  play- 
ing at  work,  and  the  mercantile  marine  in  our 
tranquil  harbor  reminds  one  of  the  boat-sail- 
ing on  summer  Saturdays  when  we  were  boys 
together. 

Little  sails  steal  in  and  out  of  the  reef-pas- 
sage like  pretty  toys;  toy  steamers  puff  to 
and  fro  between  the  islands,  and  the  most 


44  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

serious  business  is  transacted  as  if  it  were  half 
in  fun;  this  charming  illusion  is  heightened 
when  we  discover  that  the  really  big  ships 
don't  cross  the  harbor  bar  at  all,  but  anchor 
beyond  the  reef  in  blue  water.  As  for  the 
old-time  whalers,  now  fast  going  out  of  date, 
once  in  a  while  one  of  them  appears  on  the 
horizon  and  for  two  or  three  days  she  will 
drift  back  and  forth,  with  all  sail  set,  and 
then  disappear,  like  a  veritable  "Flying 
Dutchman";  the  captain  fears  to  trust  his  tars 
within  reach  of  our  native  sirens,  and  so  trans- 
acts his  business  at  long  range  and  departs. 
Don't  imagine  that  anything  is  lost  in  what 
may  seem  to  you  like  grown-up  sport — I  mean 
the  affable  business  relations  which  we  sus- 
tain with  ease.  A  nomadic  population  swarms 
upon  the  deck  of  every  outgoing  and  incom- 
ing boat;  the  air  is  sweetened  with  sugar  and 
spice  and  all  that's  nice;  and  there  are  times 
when  the  docks  are  so  crowded  that  the  latest 
arrivals  have  to  bide  their  time  in  mid-stream, 
turn  and  turn  about,  which  ought  to  be  a  great 
comfort  to  them  after  having  wrestled  with 
wind  and  wave  for  two  or  three  weeks, 
or  even  months,  possibly.  At  intervals  the 


ASHORE  45 

missionary  packet  Morning  Star  is  with  us,  and 
then  we  go  down  to  bargain  for  pink  coral 
and  quaintly  woven  South  Sea  fans;  or  some 
vessel  arrives  from  the  Tropic  of  Capricorn, 
freighted  with  half- naked  savages,  who  look 
like  the  pictures  of  cannibals  in  obsolete 
geographies.  These  tattooed  strangers  stay 
for  a  while  on  the  plantations,  and  then  they 
are  shipped  home  again,  full  of  half-formed 
new  ideas,  and  with  more  or  less  powder  and 
shot  in  their  carpet-sacks;  they  even  acquire 
a  taste  for  bric-a-brac,  and  some  of  them  in- 
vest their  little  all  in  an  assortment  of  cheap 
mirrors,  dolls,  and  light  articles  of  kitchen 
furniture,  most  of  which  will  probably  be 
worn  as  ornaments  on  state  occasions  in  those 
bright  little  isles  of  which  we  read. 

Oh,  but  you  should  watch  one  of  our  barks 
laden  and  ready  for  sea,  her  bow  swung  out 
into  the  stream  and  pointing  toward  the 
channel,  her  stern  still  fast  to  the  dock,  her 
vast  canvas  set  and  swelling  in  the  breeze. 
She  seems  to  be  straining  every  nerve  and  re- 
joicing as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race.  Every- 
thing is  in  readiness,  and  the  cables,  that  seem 
upon  the  point  of  parting,  are  suddenly  loosed 


46  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

and  cast  off;  with  an  almost  perceptible  thrill 
of  joy  she  floats  swiftly  away,  and  is  blown 
down  between  the  amber  tinted  shallows  like 
a  wild  swan  fleeing  from  her  nest  among  the 
reeds.  Friends  took  their  last  look  across  the 
widening  gulf;  the  silent  tear  is  shed,  the 
fluttering  handkerchiefs  are  pressed  to  the 
dimmed  eyes,  and  when  business — which  was 
suspended  for  a  moment  in  the  vicinity — is 
resumed  again,  there  comes  a  sense  of  loneli- 
ness that  sometimes  lasts  long  after  the  less- 
ening sail  has  dropped  like  a  star  beyond  the 
vague  horizon. 

The  departure  of  the  steamer  Likfe-like  of 
old,  and  of  the  Kinau  of  more  recent  date, 
on  Tuesday  at  4  P.  M.,  is  sure  to  call  forth 
more  or  less  emotion;  each  usually  has  a 
crowded  passenger  list — with  a  very  large 
proportion  of  Hawaiians — and  though  the  in- 
ter-island voyage  is  an  affair  of  hours,  not 
days  or  weeks,  parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow 
that  many  of  us  go  down  to  visit  the  little 
steamer  and  to  listen  to  the  sobbing  of  the 
sympathetic  sea.  The  blue-blooded  whites 
shake  hands  and  wave  a  light  adieu;  but  the 
natives,  male  and  female,  fall  upon  one 


ASHORE  47 

another's  necks  and  weep  copiously  in  their 
best  clothes.  This  display  of  emotion  is  highly 
dramatic,  because  it  is  genuine;  brief  grief  is 
bound  to  be  genuine  as  long  as  it  lasts — -it 
doesn't  have  time  to  be  anything  else;  it  is 
demonstrative  and  picturesque,  and  for  the 
most  part  utterly  unconscious,  yet  all  the 
while  the  deck  and  the  dock  are  crowded  with 
interested  spectators,  who  regard  it  as  a  pa- 
thetic or  amusing  spectacle,  according  to  their 
point  of  view.  Certainly  it  is  a  spectacle,  this 
Tuesday  paroxysm;  it  is  brilliant  with  color, 
for  the  emotional  victims  are  led  to  the  sacri- 
fice wreathed  with  flowers;  then  there  are  fruit 
offerings  without  stint,  and  drink  offerings  on 
the  sly,  and  smoke  offerings  in  stumpy  pipes 
that  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth  through  a 
constantly  increasing  circle  of  acquaintances, 
and  when  the  Like-like  or  the  Kinau  is  finally 
well  out  in  the  stream,  and  the  belated  last 
man,  who  cast  himself  scornfully  into  a  skiff, 
is  now  being  pulled  through  a  port-hole  with 
considerable  lack  of  discretion,  we  all  step 
townward,  for  the  curtain  has  been  rung  down 
on  the  perturbed  sensibilities  and  the  consoling 
hour  of  dinner  is  at  hand. 


IX. 

A  SABBATICAL  MATINEE. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

OERR  PROFESSOR: — You  are  a  little  too  lit- 
eral.  In  the  first  place,  Emma  Square  is 
in  reality  an  oblong;  in  the  second  place,  the 
seventh  day,  being  "the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord 
thy  God,  in  which  thou  shalt  do  no  labor," 
etc.,  etc.,  we  keep  the  shops  open  till  2  p.  M., 
or  even  later,  and  when  it  is  not  the  busiest 
of  days,  which  it  sometimes  is,  we  go  out  to 
the  cricket  match  on  the  plains  or  attend  the 
matinee  concert, alfresco,  free,  gratis,  for  noth- 
ing. In  short,  we  break  all  of  the  ten  com- 
mandments, or  nearly  all  of  them,  just  as 
regularly  and  religiously  as  they  are  broken 
throughout  the  Christian  world.  Of  course, 
on  Sunday  we  are  at  church;  there  is  nowhere 
else  to  go  on  Sunday,  and  it  is  well  to  observe 
the  first  day  of  the  week,  though  we  break  the 
seventh,  which  is  the  Sabbath,  into  ten  thou- 
sand fragments. 

48 


A    SABBATICAL    MATINEE  49 

There  are  turnstiles  at  the  four  corners  of 
Emma  Square;  they  are  a  kind  of  patent 
church  to  which  the  just  and  the  unjust  alike 
resign  themselves  and  are  pumped  out  on  the 
other  side  without  serious  damage.  The  util- 
ity of  the  machine  reminds  one  of  the  trap 
doors  that  block  the  exits  and  entrances  at 
popular  places  of  amusement  in  more  civilized 
communities.  Paths,  cushioned  with  volcanic 
sand,  wind  in  and  out  among  trees  and  flower- 
ing shrubs,  and  all  that  pertains  to  this  favor- 
ite resort,  from  the  kiosque  in  the  center  to  the 
long  hard  benches  that  face  it  on  every  hand, 
is  suggestive  of  the  easy  familiarity  of  social 
life  in  the  tropics.  Hither  come  the  grave, 
the  gay,  the  lively,  the  severe;  the  British 
admiral  is  not  too  admirable  to  meet  his  crew 
on  the  dead  level  of  Emma  Square;  nor  is 
the  gamin  too  independent  to  return  the  royal 
salute  with  some  pomposity;  even  the  soli- 
tary local  celebrity,  "the  dandy,"  the  only  in- 
digenous dude,  now  on  his  last  legs,  some- 
times looks  in  upon  us  with  undimmed  eye- 
glass, albeit  his  eyes  are  nearly  sightless. 

The  streets  that  surround  the  square  are 
lined  with  vehicles  on  concert  days  and  even- 


50  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

ings;  at  least  one  princess  is  a  regular  attend- 
ant at  the  Saturday  matinee,  and  not  infre- 
quently two  or  more  lean  from  their  carriages, 
dividing  their  attention  between  the  music 
and  the  "mashers";  the  King  drives  here  oc- 
casionally, pausing  in  his  deliberate  circuit  of 
the  square  to  chat  with  friends.  There  are 
pony  phaetons  driven  by  pretty  girls,  and  gay 
riding  parties,  and  solitary  horsemen  doing  the 
statuesque  in  stirrups,  and  a  proper  propor- 
tion of  young  gentleman  loungers,  who  stroll 
about  in  tennis  suits;  they  snatch  a  few  mo- 
ments from  the  battlefield  to  refresh  them- 
selves with  music;  and  these  highly  decorative 
youths  are  observed  to  distribute  their  com- 
pliments with  judicious  impartiality. 

Emma  Square  at  such  a  time  is  a  breathing 
spot  for  the  business  man,  a  playground  for 
the  indifferent  children  of  the  earth,  a  place 
of  rest  and  relaxation  for  eyery  one  who  lives 
within  reach  of  it-  It  is  the  parade  ground  of 
the  middies,  and  the  bare  feet  of  the  urchin 
tread  the  same  soil  with  French  gaiters  and 
Oxford-ties.  What  though  the  rain  sifts 
down  out  of  the  cloudless  sky?  The  umbrella 
tree  is  at  hand,  and  the  India-rubber,  and 


A   SABBATICAL   MATINEE  51 

there  is  ever  the  broad  banana  leaf,  under 
whose  silken  canopy  Paul  and  Virginia  found 
shelter. 

Oh  marvelous  rain,  that  powders  one  with- 
out wetting  him!  Oh  marvelous  rainbow,  that 
stretches  its  airy  arch  against  a  heaven  of  bril- 
liant blue!  Oh  marvelous  green  half-acre,  so 
fresh,  so  fair,  so  flowery,  wherein  the  Sab- 
batical matinee  is  made  mirthful;  wherein  the 
moonlight  nights  are  doubly  melodious,  where 
the  melody  is  lamplit  when  the  moon  has  hid- 
den her  face;  and  where  at  no  time  or  sea- 
son, and  under  no  circumstances  whatever,  is 
it  forbidden  to  walk  upon  the  grass!  .... 


X. 

A  POI-FEED. 

HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

A  IKANE: — It  happened  in  Number  500,  the 
makua  cottage  in  the  hotel  grounds  that 
must  be  forever  associated  with  the  memory 
of  the  Kohala  boys.  The  Kohala  boys  were 
not  present  on  the  occasion  of  which  I  write; 
they  had  withdraw^  to  Kohala  for  repairs, 
and  "Number  500"  was  ours  for  the  time 
being. 

All  the  morning  a  carriage  had  been  rolling 
to  and  fro,  actively  engaged  in  facilitating  the 
arrangements  for  a  poi-feed.  There  were  fish 
of  the  rarest  description  to  be  captured,  fresh 
from  the  net,  at  three  o'clock  A.  M.  ;  these 
were  to  be  swathed  in  succulent  leaves  and 
cooked  in  mysterious  ways.  Fowls  likewise 
were  to  be  procured;  and  a  piglet,  done  to 
death  and  as  delicate  in  texture  as  a  new  born 
babe.  There  was  a  punch-bowl,  and  a  bath- 
52 


A    POI-FEED  53 

tub  full  of  ice-water,  wherein  was  sunk  many 
a  bottle  of  the  choicest  liquids  that  ever 
enriched  our  house  of  customs. 

All  this  took  time  and  a  carriage,  and  it 
was  twilight  before  we  sat  in  a  big  circle  on 
the  floor  and  feasted  our  hungry  eyes.  Fish, 
raw  and  cooked,  were  served  in  nests  of 
leaves;  flesh  and  fowl,  snow-flaky  and  deli- 
cious beyond  conception;  and  such  seaweed 
salad  as  only  mermaids  and  Hawaiians  know 
how  to  make ;  powdered  kukui-nuts  for  con- 
diment, and  crystals  of  rock  salt;  over  all, 
and  round  about  all,  flowers  and  ferns  were 
strewed  in  rich  profusion;  wreaths  were  upon 
our  necks  and  brows;  we  were  bacchanalians 
in  a  decorative  art  sense,  and  moreover  there 
was  neither  knife  nor  fork  to  mar  our  pleasure, 
nor  prude,  nor  shrew,  nor  prying  eye,  nor 
anything  but  endless  appetite  and  the  very 
best  of  good  fellowship.  The  guitars  were 
not  silent,  nor  were  the  voices  hushed;  and 
when,  weary  of  the  feast,  we  sank  back  upon 
downy  pillows  and  felt  like  silken  Sybarites, 
there  was  one  who  broke  into  a  barbaric 
chant,  and  with  much  suggestive  gesticulation, 
danced  from  the  knees  up  until  we  cried 
"Enough!" 


54  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Then  we  ate  again,  and  yet  again,  and  per- 
chance dozed  at  intervals,  for  the  resources 
of  the  poi-feed  are  inexhaustible,  and  it  was 
not  until  we  had  each  and  all  had  a  fling  at 
the  inimitable  Hula-Kui — and,  alas!  for  the 
most  part  covered  ourselves  with  confusion 
not  unmixed  with  poi — that  we  separated  with 
much  adieu.  The  skeleton  at  that  feast  was 
composed  almost  entirely  of  fish-bones;  not 
until  the  day  following  did  we  know  one  regret. 

But  there  is  a  balm  in  Gilead,  Aikanc! 
You  must  know  this  from  experience.  It  is 
as  soft  as  oil;  it  is  as  mild  as  camel's-milk; 
it  is  more  soothing  than  a  lullaby;  not  myrrh, 
nor  hyssop,  nor  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia, 
can  pick  a  fellow  up  like  one  of  these.  I  refer 
— need  I  name  it? — to  the  poi-cocktail 
Mothers  use  it,  medicinally;  children,  the  na- 
tive and  the  acclimated,  cry  for  it  habitually ; 
without  it,  or  rather  without  its  principal  in- 
gredient, the  gentle  Hawaiian  would  pass  like 
a  small  cloud  from  the  face  of  the  earth  and 
the  sea. 

You  need  not  ask  your  grocer  for  it;  he 
knows  nothing  of  its  many  virtues;  you  must 
come  hitherward  to  seek  it,  for  it  is  to  be  taken 


A    POI-FEED  55 

on  the  spot  and  taken  after  you  have  been 
well  shaken — for  instance,  after  a  poi-feed  like 
the  one  above  referred  to.  It  will  smoothe 
your  ruffled  plumage;  it  will  restore  your 
soul;  it  will  deliver  you  from  limbo,  and  fill 
you  with  a  great,  an  unutterable  peace,  in  re- 
turn for  which  ten  thousand  thousand  thanks 
were  poor  indeed.  You  will  thrive  under 
its  influence;  you  will  grow  charitable  and 
philosophical;  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that 
while  contemplating  the  flourishing  condition 
of  the  retired  American  missionary,  combined 
with  the  efficacy  of  the  poi-cocktail,  you  will 
generously  and  freely,  if  not  emphatically, 
acknowledge  that  the  nation  has  not  been 
converted  in  vain. 


XL 

KAPENA. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

CTRONG  SWIMMER: — In  your  agony  of  goose- 
*P  flesh  and  chills  at  the  baths  of  Alameda 
or  Monterey,  forget  not  the  sweet  pool  of 
Kapena.  It  may  be  said  of  us  in  these  islands 
that  we  are  never  out  of  sight  of  the  sea,  and 
to  most  of  us  its  sound  is  ever  audible;  but 
there  is  a  vale  hidden  among  the  hills  that 
wooes  us  from  the  shore,  for  it  is  within  easy 
walking  distance  of  the  capital,  and  in  the 
heart  of  it  is  a  deep  pool  fed  by  a  living 
stream;  it  is  Kapena. 

There,  removed  from  the  convocation  of 
political  worms,  one  may  angle  without  bait, 
taking  the  flame-flecked  goldfish  by  the  hand- 
ful; or,  weary  of  this  dalliance,  bask  upon 
beds  of  mimosa,  stripped  to  the  natural  buff 
or  old  gold  or  bronze,  as  the  case  may  be. 
The  sensitive  plant  is  all  that  recoils  at  our 


KAPENA  57 

state,  for  we  are  under  the  shoulders  of  a  high 
hill,  and  heights  hem  us  in  on  every  side; 
moreover,  the  approach  to  this  famous  bath 
is  so  delusive  that  a  stranger  might  easily 
thread  the  path  in  search  of  the  swimming- 
pool  and  turn  back  before  he  has  sighted  it; 
the  way  is  not  steep,  but  it  is  thorny,  and  the 
stream  that  it  follows,  which  brawls  among 
rocks  and  rushes,  has  so  many  tempting  basins 
that  a  swimmer  might  easily  fall  by  the  way- 
side. Moreover,  the  points  of  the  hills  fit  in 
and  in,  like  hands  that  have  been  half  un- 
clasped, and  though  the  diminutive  cascades 
are  musical  and  the  gigantic  cacti  formidable, 
and  the  avenue  of  lauhala — that  weird  tree, 
with  its  roots  in  the  air  and  the  trail  of  its 
leaves  like  knots  of  yard-long,  gray-green  rib- 
bon— though  the  lauhala  avenue  is  unique, 
there  is,  as  you  well  know,  a  chance  of  the 
stranger  losing  heart  at  last,  and  not  placing 
his  foot  within  the  gates  of  Kapena. 

I  do  not  claim  for  it  a  wide  range  of  color; 
nor  has  it  .any  feature  that  is  remarkable  in 
form;  it  is  merely  a  stream  tumbling  between 
bowlders  into  a  placid  sheet  of  not  particu- 
larly clear  water.  On  one  side  is  a  projecting 


58  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

cliff  bearded  with  shadows;  on  the  other  a 
steep  slope  with  ferns  and  creepers.  Above 
the  waterfall  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  distant 
hills,  on  which  the  sun  seems  always  to  be 
shining.  Below,  the  view  is  limited.  The 
descending  path  follows  the  outlet  under  one 
of  the  rocky  heights  and  soon  is  lost  to  view. 
There  is  really  very  little  to  distinguish  the 
place  from  any  of  the  thousand  and  one  bath- 
ing haunts  of  the  Hawaiians,  but  its  associa- 
tions are  very  dear  to  the  people;  for  the  sol- 
itary cocoa  palm  that  leans  from  the  bank 
of  Kapena  has  outlived  several  amphibious 
generations,  and  it  will  probably  look  just  as 
it  looks  to-day — a  little  ragged  and  weather- 
worn, and  awfully  lonesome — for  amphibious 
generations  to  come. 

It  is  when  the  sun  is  hottest  and  a  half-hol- 
iday that  Kapena  awakens;  soothed  by  the  lul- 
laby of  its  own  waters,  it  often  sleeps;  its 
palm  is  a  slumberous  palm  at  all  times,  for  it 
no  doubt  prefers  to  dream  of  the  days  when 
the  nation  was  heroic  and  when  its  heroes 
came  hither  to  refresh  themselves — did  you 
never  lie  there  a-dreaming  in  the  silence  and 
the  summer  sunshine,  a-dreaming  with  one 


KAPENA  59 

eye  open,  if,  peradventure,  an  angel  might 
trouble  the  pool?  At  times  Kapena  is  filled 
with  swimmers:  they  spend  hours  in  the 
water  and  upon  the  banks;  brown,  sleek, 
glossy  fellows  sunning  themselves  like  seals 
upon  the  rocks;  running,  romping,  wrestling, 
diving  to  see  who  shall  stay  longest  under 
water,  or  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  cliff  and 
leaping  off — an  exhibition  not  only  of  daring 
but  of  exceeding  grace. 

Who  of  us  will  forget  the  seasons  we  have 
spent  there  when  the  rocks  rang  with  musical 
laughter?  when  the  shores  were  peopled  by 
water-nymphs?  when  the  bronze  cupids  ate 
madly  of  rare-ripe  watermelon  and  drank 
deeply  of  ginger-pop?  when  the  sages  were 
boys  again,  and  the  boys  were  imps,  and 
Kapena  w.as  beaten  to  a  froth  with  the  frantic 
gambols  of  the  innocents?  Why  do  I  remind 
you  of  all  this  if  you  do  not  see  again,  while 
you  read,  what  I  see  whenever  I  get  the  chance 
to?  If  you  don't  remember  that  the  native 
modesty  of  the  native  nude  is  so  convincing 
it  requires  no  apology  for  the  absence  of  every- 
thing else?  Do  you  not  recall  that  brilliant 
tableau  of  the  flower  of  Hawaii,  plump  as  a 


60  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

mango,  graceful  as  a  bamboo-wand,  poised 
upon  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff,  ready 
to  plunge  like  a  shooting  star  into  the  depths 
below?  He  is  about  to  dive  through  two 
elements,  rose-tinted  air  and  amber-tinted 
water — out  of  the  sunset  into  the  dark!  All 
eyes  are  upon  him,  for  the  beauty  of  his  flight 
is  unparalleled,  and  as  he  poises  for  a  moment 
upon  the  extremest  verge  of  the  abyss  in  an 
attitude  that  might  quicken  the  soul  of  a 
sculptor,  he  seems  to  chant,  in  the  words  of 
the  revised  Psalmist:  "Wash  me,  and  I  shall 
be  browner  than  soap!" 


XII. 

THE  COLONIAL  TRANSIT. 

HAWAIIAN  HOTEL,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

IV/l  ISERABLE  AMERICAN: — Do  you  realize  in 
*  what  low  esteem  you  are  held  by  your 
Colonial  cousin?  It  is  true  that  he  conde- 
scends to  pass  through  your  great  country  on 
his  way  to  the  diminutive  mother-land;  but 
it  may  be  that  the  cholera  in  Eygpt  or  the 
war  in  Africa  compels  this  condescension,  and 
in  most  cases  you  will  please  regard  it  as 
compulsory  patronage.  The  Colonist  at 
home  is  doubtless  a  very  proper  fellow,  being 
one  with  all  things  antipodean;  but  the  Col- 
onist abroad  is  insulated — the  pelican  of  the 
wilderness  not  more  so.  And  while  he  is 
still  swollen  with  Austral  pride,  he  touches 
our  shore  and  humbles  us  in  the  dust. 

Of  course  you  will  not  comprehend  this,  for 
the   Colonist,  as   you    know — if    indeed    you 
know  him  at    all — is    an    angular    nonentity, 
61 


62  HAWAIIAN   LIFE 

tipped  with  a  cork-helmet  and  with  a  field- 
glass  on  his  hip;  or  he  is  a  perfectly  round 
and  well-fed,  if  not  over-fed,  person,  whose 
face  seems  to  have  had  all  expression  scrubbed 
out  of  it;  on  the  street  he  is  an  interrogation 
in  a  puggery,  or  a  satirical,  parenthetical 
comment  inclosed  in  feminine  brackets.  In 
the  human  ebb  and  flow  upon  your  crowded 
pavements  he  is  no  more  than  a  bubble  upon 
a  stream;  but  with  us  it  is  otherwise.  We 
count  the  day,  almost  the  hour,  when  the 
mail-packet  is  due  from  Australia;  and  from 
the  cupola  above  we  can  track  her  passage 
from  the  horizon  to  the  dock.  No  sooner  is 
she  comfortably  moored  than  carriages  begin 
to  arrive  at  the  hotel,  and  very  shortly  the 
corridors  and  verandas  are  swarming  with 
tourists,  mostly  Colonial. 

That  the  Colonist  has  little  knowledge  of 
us  is  evident  from  the  first;  that  he  accepts 
our  amiable  explanations  of  the  situation  with 
the  generous  condescension  of  one  who  con- 
siders himself  a  superior  being  is  evident  to 
the  last.  His  hopeless  perplexity  over  the 
relative  value  of  English  and  American  coin- 
age; the  startling  ingenuousness  of  his  inter- 


THE    COLONIAL   TRANSIT  63 

rogations; his  comic  confusion  at  the  bar, 
where,  perhaps,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  attempts  to  solve  the  mystery  of  mixed 
drinks,  do  not  drag  him  down  to  our  level; 
we  are  still  to  be  numbered  among  the  milder 
attractions  of  the  Hawaiian  menagerie,  and  it 
is  for  this  reason,  I  suppose,  that  the  old  kan- 
garoo in  knickerbockers,  and  the  dowager 
emu  on  his  arm,  turn  from  us  disdainfully 
when  we  have  been  ogled  to  their  hearts'  con- 
tent. 

I  would  not  have  you  think  that  there  are 
not  glorious  men  who  come  out  of  the  bush; 
grand  men  having  immense  individuality; 
philosophers  who  have  plunged  into  the  waste 
places  of  the  dark  continent  and  dwelt  there, 
and  who  have  come  back  into  the  world  again 
with  a  spiritual  and  mental  growth  that  ought 
to  atone  for  the  absence  of  it  in  so  many  of 
their  fellows;  these  stalwart  explorers  are 
not  for  a  moment  to  be  confounded  with  the 
average  specimen,  who,  as  long  as  he  infests 
the  hotel,  is  miserably  divided  between  an 
anxiety  as  to  the  hour  of  "tiffin,"  and  an  over- 
willingness  to  cast  his  eye  upon  Government 
House  and  hallow  it. 


64  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

He  has  suffered  no  sea-change  since  the 
hour  he  abandoned  the  provinces;  he  stalks 
haughtily  through  our  streets  with  an  air  im- 
plying that  it  is  his  conviction  that  an  all-wise 
Providence,  mindful  of  the  possible  visitation 
of  a  stray  Australian,  has  therefore  touched 
off  a  volcano  of  no  mean  dimensions. to  light 
him  on  his  way. 

The  Colonial  transit  is  not  without  interest, 
for  the  Colonists  in  transitu  descend  upon  us 
in  full  feather,  and  depart  like  a  precipitous 
flight  of  cranes — and  this  is  at  least  spec- 
tacular! 

Sic  transit  gloria  coloniarum! 


XIII. 

DAY  OF  REST. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I 

DEVEREND  DEAR  FATHER: — High  mass  was 
^  over  in  the  cathedral;  twin  sanctuary 
boys  in  scarlet  cassocks  and  starched  sur- 
plices were  reverently  extinguishing  the  tapers 
upon  the  high  altar;  the  air  was  still  freighted 
with  incense- — when  I  withdrew  and  wended 
my  way  to  the  postoffice.  The  postoffice 
is  a  shrine  to  which  many  pilgrimages  are 
made  on  Sunday;  the  business  man  fulfills 
this  duty  religiously ;  neither  wind  nor  weather 
prevails  against  him.  The  angelus  was  ring- 
ing as  I  returned;  a  great  throng  of  worship- 
ers that  yet  lingered  within  the  Mission  gates 
stood  with  heads  uncovered  from  Angelus 
Domini  to  the  last  amen. 

Then  I  wandered  up  the  valley  thinking  of 
you  and  of  the  days  when  you   were   with    us 
seeking  refreshment  and  rest;  a  celebrant   at 
65 


66  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

that  most  precious  altar;  our  guide,  philoso- 
pher, and  friend  in  suburban  explorations  and 
in  quiet  hours  by  the  sea.  But  Sunday  is  no 
longer  a  day  of  rest  for  you,  nor  is  it  likely 
that  you  will  ever  again  know  rest  till  you  have 
dropped  in  harness  somewhere  by  the  way- 
side, or  in  the  mart,  or  the  wilderness  that 
has  been  trodden  by  your  tireless  feet  these 
many,  many  years. 

I  wish  you  might  have  been  with  us  to-day, 
sweet  saint !  You  would  have  seen  how  I 
find  a  day  of  rest  now  and  again;  I,  who 
need  it  so  little  yet  have  it,  while  you,  who 
are  so  much  in  need  of  it,  have  it  not.  How- 
ever, I  know  that  you  will  not  begrudge  me 
the  avenue  of  royal  palms  I  threaded,  nor  the 
lawn,  with  its  breadths  of  verdant  plush,  nor 
the  peristyle  of  roses,  beneath  which  is  a  huge 
jade  vase,  bearing  an  epic  of  wonderland  in 
high  relief,  and  beyond  which  is  a  cot — a  kind 
of  dove-cote  perdu.  Here  one  is  sure  of  a 
welcome  that  just  fits  into  a  day  of  rest  and 
perfects  it.  Under  a  ccinopy  of  creepers  and 
climbers  in  bud,  blossom,  and  fruit,  there  is  a 
lounge  with  a  happy  valley  in  it  where  one 
may  curl  up  and  purr;  there  are  easy-chairs 


DAY   OF    REST  6/ 

for  cigarettes  and  tiny  tables  for  black  coffee 
after  a  dinner  of  unexampled  delicacy  and 
deliciousness.  There  is  a  dusky  room,  full  of 
dainty  wares,  the  silence  of  which  is  broken 
at  intervals  by  a  light  touch  upon  the  piano- 
keys — wandering  ringers  in  search  of  forgotten 
melodies;  and  there  is  a  youngster  flitting 
about  like  a  butterfly — a  youngster  that  may 
have  stepped  out  of  the  stained  glass  window 
of  some  dim  cathedral  and  been  made  flesh, 
for  aught  I  know. 

If  the  afternoon  light  is  fierce,  we  make  a 
tent  of  jamdari  draperies,  or  hang  folds  of 
orange  velvet  for  a  screen,  upon  which  shadow 
leaves  are  wrought  in  Japanese  style,  and  we 
have  an  afterglow  exquisite  and  exclusive. 

And  eVer  the  flight  of  time  is  unheeded; 
clocks  strike — if  they  care  to  strike — for  the 
mere  fun  of  it,  and  not  at  all  in  a  business 
way.  There  are  silent  interludes;  there  are 
pages  to  be  conned  or  let  alone;  sometimes 
we  bubble  over  with  mirth,  for  this  also  is 
restful;  but  nothing  is  permitted  to  disturb 
the  repose  which  we  cultivate  as  chief  of  the 
fine  arts,  not  even  the  sharp  showers  that 
drive  over  us  at  uncertain  intervals,  with  the 


68  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

clatter   of   hail,   leaving   the    grass    and    the 
flowers  powdered  with  brilliants. 

It  seems  that  nothing  but  night  and  dark- 
ness can  round  off  so  serenely  sensuous  an 
experience,  and  in  the  darkness  of  night  we 
dissolve  away,  two  of  us  walking  side  by  side. 
Would  we  might  make  it  three,  ghostly  father, 
but  as  we  may  not  here's  rue  for  you — "we  call 
it  herb-grace  o'  Sundays" — the  grace  I  wish 
you  and  all  Christian  souls.  Selah. 


XIV. 

HIGHWAYS. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

T^o  A  FAIR  ANONYMOUS,  THESE  LINES,  IN 
MEMORY  OF  HAPPIER  DAYS: — You  surely 
will  remember  the  balmy  afternoon  when  you 
surprised  me  in  the  solitude  of  Spook  Hall. 
You  had  just  set  foot  on  shore;  such  a  wee 
little  foot,  and  so  daintily  shod — by  the  by, 
it  was  the  most  beautiful  of  your  sex  who  rose 
also  from  the  wavcc  upon  the  edge  of  a  sum- 
mer isle!  You  awakeneJ  me  from  a  dream, 
to  a  reality  more  beautiful  than  a  dream;  you 
dazzled  among  the  lilies,  and  broke  the  silence 
of  the  old  Hall  with  glorious  and  triumphant 
song;  and  then,  half  regretfully,  for  the  solem- 
nity of  the  place  soothed  and  comforted  you 
voyagers,  we  got  upon  wheels — alas!  that 
they  were  not  chariot  wheels — and  were  driven 
through  all  the  highways  of  the'  tropical 

metropolis. 

69 


7O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Do  you  remember  how  we  bowled  down  the 
easy  slope  of  Nuuanu  Avenue,  unique  in  the 
annals  of  highways,  and  in  so  many  minutes 
had  passed  from  the  airy  domains  of  the  more 
luxurious  residents  into  the  very  heat  and 
burden  of  the  town? 

I  have  traveled  the  avenue  when  it  was 
merely  a  strip  of  land,  like  a  tow-path,  be- 
tween acres  and  acres  of  kalo;  it  was  as  i| 
the  kalo  patches  had  been  miraculously 
divided,  so  that  the  exodus  of  the  weary  cit. 
izen  was  facilitated,  and  he  passed  through 
the  midst  thereof  dry-shod.  In  those  days 
there  was  another  highway  along  the  flank  of 
Punch  Bowl,  that  extinct  town-crater,  and 
the  Nuuanu  road  was  not  fashionable;  more- 
over, in  those  days  it — the  latter  I  mean — 
dipped  into  the  upper  stream,  and  the  freshets 
guttered  it  with  impunity;  but  now  the  higher 
way  has  fallen  almost  into  disuse,  and  is  the 
basis  of  a  young  Azorean  colony.  The  bridge 
that  spans  the  upper  stream,  the  reclaimed 
kalo  land,  the  numerous  suburban  villas,  the 
fresher,  sweeter  air,  and  the  shy  showers  that 
fall  in  the  valley,  but  have  spent  their  force 
long  before  they  reach  tho  towav  these  have 


HIGHWAYS  /I 

made  Nuuanu  Avenue  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  attractive  of  Honolulu  highways. 

Still  stand  the  walls  of  a  mountain  lodge 
far  up  the  valley — an  angular  stone  ruin  now, 
that  was  beloved  of  one  of  the  Kamehamehas; 
and  here  the  avenue  is  a  broad  pastoral  way, 
with  the  tall  grass  waving  upon  its  rough 
edges.  There  also  is  the  summer  home  of 
the  Queen  Dowager,  and  at  one  end  of  the 
avenue  is  the  famous  Pali — an  astonishing 
pictorial  climax;  at  the  other  is  the  town, 
hidden  in  a  grove  beside  the  sea. 

The  lack  of  uniformity  in  the  architecture 
on  both  sides  of  the  avenue  is  one  of  its  chief 
charms.  It  has  been  of  slow  growth;  the  cot 
of  the  early  missionary  remains,  a  very  few 
of  the  humbler  native  huts  likewise;  even  the 
coolie  launderer  spouts  and  sprinkles  his  linen 
in  a  shanty  of  his  own  contrivance,  and  within 
the  fire  limits  there  are  at  least  two  vegetable 
gardens  of  no  mean  dimensions  on  this  very 
democratic  highway.  Over  against  these 
necessary  evils,  out  of  which  much  good 
cometh,  the  merchant  princes  have  elaborated 
their  dwellings,  and  in  some  instances  have 
set  their  household  godsandgoddessessamong 


72  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

clustering  palms,  beside  sparkling  water 
courses,  or  where  fountains  play  softly  in  per- 
fumed bowers. 

Have  you  forgotten  a  certain  contiguity  of 
shade,  wherein  graceful  chalets  and  kiosks 
were  half  secreted;  or  the  silver  globes  that 
shone  like  huge  stars  in  the  perpetual  twilight 
that  reigned  there?  It  is  true  that  the  fauna 
was  the  fauna  of  the  foundry,  clad  in  thick 
coats  of  paint;  but  the  flDra  was  the  flora  of 
fairyland. 

Beretania  Street  charmed  you,  and  we 
drew  up  for  a  moment  before  the  lovely  lawn, 
with  the  most  tropical  of  houses,  under  a  huge 
tent-like  roof,  in  the  dim  distance  at  the  far 
end  of  the  lawn;  and  there  we  saw  gay  lads 
and  lassies  tripping  it  fantastically  at  tennis. 

The  leafy  reservations,  that  are  the  pride 
of  Emma  Street,  we  coveted;  and  were 
breathless  with  delight  as  we  slowly  threaded 
the  Gothic  colonnade  of  palms  that  encircles 
the  pleasure  grounds  at  the  Queen's  Hospital. 
Through  King  Street,  on  the  Plains,  you  were 
constantly  exclaiming  at  the  jungles  of  feath- 
ery mcsquite  that  clouded  the  air  with  demi- 
semi-shadows. 


HIGHWAYS  73 

We  catalogued  the  amazing  possibilities  of 
the  Park,  still  in  its  pea-green  adolescence; 
and  came  briskly  townward  on  the  Waikiki 
road,  where  the  sea  seemed  very  much  higher 
than  the  shore,  and  the  "league-long-roller" 
looked  as  if  it  must  break  over  our  heads  the 
very  next  minute. 

Ah,  me !  The  sun  set  for  you  that  night, 
and  covered  himself  and  all  of  us  with  glory, 
and  you  thought  only  to  tarry  forever  in  such 
a  clime  were  heaven  enough  to  comfort  a 
world-weary  soul.  But  you  would  not — for 
you  could  not — stay  with  us! 

Is  it  sorry  you  are,  fair  Penitent,  now  that 
you  are  defrauded  of  all  this  local  loveliness? 

Serves  you  right!  yoi>  turned  your  back 
upon  us,  and  when  the  moon  was  leaning 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  I  saw  your  great 
ship  fade  like  a  phantom,  and  across  the  dim 
waste,  out  of  the  stillest  night  that  ever  was 
on  sea  or  land,  came  a  voice  as  of  one  crying 
in  the  wilderness  of  the  waters:  "Farewell, 
farewell,  and  once  again  farewell!"  It  was  a 
long  farewell,  for  the  sound  of  that  voice  is 
stilled — I  shall  hear  it  no  more,  forever! 


XV. 

BY-WAYS. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

'"THE  tropical  metropolis  is  rich  in  by-ways; 
an  accurate  diagram  of  all  its  streets, 
alleys,  lanes,  passages,  and  short-cuts  would 
resemble  an  Arabian  scripture.  Many  of  the 
lesser  paths  are  known  only  to  the  initiated. 
All  at  once,  some  one  appears  upon  the  scene; 
he  may  have  emerged  from  a  banana  thicket, 
or  sidled  out  of  a  cleft  in  a  wall,  or  crept 
through  a  knot-hole, *f or  aught  I  know;  it  is 
as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  materialized. 
Somebody  else  as  mysteriously  disappears  by 
a  process  of  absorption,  and  the  places  that 
knew  him  a  moment  before  know  him  no 
more  for  an  indefinite  period. 

I  like  these  surprising  exits  and  entrances.  I 

always  wish  to  follow    the    fellow-being    who 

faded  out  like  an  effigy    in   a    magic   lantern, 

and  learn  his  fate,  but  I   never    shall,  though 

74 


BY-WAYS  75 

seldom  in  this  latitude  does  one  read  that 
aggressive  legend  "No  Thoroughfare" — a  bit 
of  gratuitous  impertinence  that  prevails  in 
most  cities,  and  is  no  doubt  a  necessary  snub 
to  most  citizens.  I  choose  to  preserve  the 
mystery  of  these  winding  ways,  and  to  people 
the  undiscovered  countries  to  which  they  lead 
with  beings  too  bright  for  common  use. 

The  sweet  seclusion  of  the  streets,  which 
was  the  delight  of  delightful  Elia,  may  be 
taken  literally  here;  and  here,  in  consequence, 
Elia  would  miss  all  that  offered  him  seclusion, 
and  sweetened  it  to  his  taste. 

There  are  by-ways  in  which  the  cottages 
seem  to  have  been  designed  exclusively  for 
the  home  of  love  and  the  housing  of  herb  din- 
ners; anything  so  gross  as  the  stalled  ox  would 
give  rank  offense  in  these  localities.  The 
guitar  is  lightly  strummed  in  a  privacy  bounded 
by  jalousies,  passion-flowers  and  myrtles. 
Love  swings  under  his  vine  and  fig  tree  in  a 
hammock  that  has  made  of  two  souls  a  single 
chrysalis,  and  webbed  a  brace  of  hearts  in  one 
rapturous  cocoon.  The  foot  of  the  infrequent 
passer-by  falls  noiselessly  in  the  grassy  lane; 
the  never  very  swift  current  of  life  in  the  tropics 


76  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

drops  one  at  intervals  into  dream-like  eddies 
among  the  by-ways,  where  it  is  difficult  to 
realize  that  one  is  quite  awake — nor  am  I  sure 
that  such  is  really  the  case. 

There  is  one  weird  by-way  called  Kukui 
Place.  It  abuts  upon  a  plantation  of  banana, 
and  a  field  of  pulse  and  lentils.  It  carefully 
avoids  a  structure  which  was  once  a  chapel, 
and  emerges  from  the  rear  of  the  deconse- 
crated edifice,  with  a  kind  of  shame-faced  air, 
upon  a  brief  but  eminently  respectable  street. 
Kukui  Place  has  a  wall  or  a  ridge  upon  one 
side  of  it;  a  toy-like  cliff  that  overtops  your 
head.  A  few  diminutive  lodges  are  grouped 
along  this  ledge,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole 
is  unique,  if  not  startling — as  if  it  were  al- 
most an  optical  illusion,  or  were  a  little  out 
of  drawing,  or  were  not  exactly  what  it  should 
be;  probably  it  is  not! 

That  ridge,  though  it  is  considerably  above 
sea  level  and  far  removed  from  the  shore — 
fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile — that  ridge  is  a  coral 
reef,  and  once  upon  a  time  the  waves  broke 
thunderously  in  Kukui  Place,  and  there  the 
now  extinct  monsters  of  the  deep  wallowed 
and  sunned  themselves;  this  was  before  the 


BY-WAYS  77 

island  had  grown  up  or  was  peopled^possibly 
before  the  deluge. 

Not  every  by-way  is  a  page  of  unwritten 
history;  Kukui  Place  stands  almost  alone  in 
this  respect;  but  there  are  by-ways  dearer  to 
me  than  it  has  ever  dared  to  be,  and  far 
dearer  than  any  of.  the  more  pretentious 
avenues.  Science  has  deflowered  the  King's 
Highway;  umbrageous  boughs  are  lopped  so 
that  the  aerial  cable  may  twang  nasal  gossip 
upon  the  distended  tympanum  of  a  breathless 
island  world;  the  galled  jades  wince  there  and 
are  a  spectacle  to  gods  and  men — let  us  with- 
draw! Call  these  by-ways  "cow-paths"  if 
you  will,  for  they  are  nameless,  and  only  to 
be  identified  by  some  tree  or  flower,  a  color 
or  an  odor  all  their  own;  but  they  are  the 
clew  to  velvety  nooks  where  the  solitary  lead 
Crusoe  lives,  and  even  to  look  in  upon  them 
in  the  friendliest  way  seems  like  intrusion. 

There  is  one  leafy  lane  I  call  my  own;  upon 
the  two  sides  of  it  the  rude  stone  walls  are 
starred  with  lichen;  the  wild  covolvulus  tum- 
bles a  cataract  of  blossoms  along  its  turfy 
bed,  and  there  the  ghostly  flower  of  the  mid- 
night breathes  its  soul  away  under  the  watch- 


/8  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

ful  stars.  Within  a  mango  grove,  at  the  top 
of  this  lane,  I  see  thatched  gables;  a  bridle- 
path descends  into  a  hollow  vale,  where  the 
still  waters  are  lily-laden,  where  goldfish  and 
sunbeams  flash  in  the  amber  depths.  The 
birds  cry  "halt"  at  my  approach,  and  the  bees 
and  butterflies  circle  about  me  to  mislead  me, 
for  these  are  all  its  sentinels;  but  out  of  that 
Eden,  blown  softly  upon  the  privileged  winds, 
voices  are  borne  to  me,  and  music  and  the 
rhythm  of  dancing  feet;  and  they  that  dwell 
therein  set  all  their  lives  to  the  melody  of 
lutes  and  laughter,  and  are  always  young  and 
fair,  and  fearless  of  decay  and  death.  Yet 
across  the  first  sod  in  that  alluring  way  I  have 
never  set  my  foot — across  it  I  never  shall. 

I  believe  blindly  in  the  perennial  joys  of 
that  paradise;  I  bless  it  always  as  I  pass  it 
by,  but  I  would  rather  pass  it  by  forever  than 
to  risk  bereavement  in  discovery;  nor  will  I 
ever  reveal  to  you,  or  any  one,  the  place  of 
its  concealment. — 

It  is  mine  alone! 


XVI. 

IN  THE  MARKET-PLACE. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

ANGLER: — You,  who  pride  yourself 
on  your  apostolical  proclivities,  who  have 
whipped  all  the  trout  streams  within  the  state 
boundaries,  and  cast  your  net  in  the  deep  sea 
— where,  I  beg  leave  to  remind  you,  you  long 
since  sunk  your  reputation  for  veracity — if 
you  could  only  lounge  with  me  in  the  market- 
place at  dawn,  when  the  fish  are  freshest,  or 
on  Saturday  afternoon,  when  the  .Hawaiian 
lays  in  his  family  supplies.  If  you  only  could ! 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  are  displayed  in 
abundance  under  an  expansive  roof  that,  like 
the  black  tent  of  the  Bedouin,  is  meant  only 
for  a  kind  of  sunshade.  On  one  hand  glares 
the  sun  of  the  tropics;  on  the  other  sparkles 
the  tropical  sea;  there  are  no  cool  slabs  of 
marble  here,  with  rows  of  huge  salmon  shim- 
mering under  showers  of  artificial  spray;  we 
79 


8O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

have  nothing  but  benches  of  the  rudest  sort, 
and  these  are  littered  with  a  variety  of  mer- 
chandise, hopelessly  confused. 

Fish  catch  the  eye  at  once;  pretty  painted 
things  that  look  as  if  they  had  been  designed 
for  the  ornamentation  of  a  fountain  or  a  par- 
lor aquarium,  rather  than  for  table  use.  Fish 
that  have  swum  through  sunset  seas  and 
caught  their  radiant  dyes;  fish  that  might 
leap  a  rainbow  without  deranging  its  seven- 
toned  harmony;  fish  like  prisms  with  fins — 
or  fans,  rather,  and  Japanese  fans  at  that! 

Oh,  what  flashing  fish!  fantailed  moonbeams 
and  sunbeams;  phosphorescent  firebrands; 
elfish  things  cased  in  shining  armor — ambas- 
sadors from  the  coral  kingdom.  Angel-fish 
—gauzy-winged  amphibia,  born  of  the  foam 
and  a  star-ray;  sea-meteors  that  glance  from 
the  crest  of  a  wave  and  go  out  with  a  visible 
splash;  delicious,  pulpy,  manna-like  morsels, 
that,  when  daintily  dished,  are  a  sauce  unto 
themselves.  And  other  assorted  piscatorial 
bric-a-brac. 

From  the  market  place  one  looks  directly 
upon  the  marine  pastures  where  these  rlocks 
feed;  mermen,  knee-deep  upon  the  reef,  are 


IN   THE    MARKET-PLACE  8 1 

herding  them;  mermaidens  mock  them  in 
their  gambols;  bronze -brown  babies  dot  the 
middle  distance — these  also  are  fishified,  and 
may  be  classed  as  Cyclostomata,  having  eel- 
like  bodies,  a  cartilaginous  skeleton,  and  ad- 
hesive mouths. 

All  the  aquatic  delicacies  of  the  season  are 
here,  and  here  is  the  most  delicate  of  all. 
It  is  not  a  mould  of  starch— it  is  pale,  pearly, 
opalescent,  globular;  beneath  it  knots  of 
clinging  tendrils,  that,  like  the  locks  of  Me- 
dusa, are  instilled  with  individual  life,  wave 
languidly;  sometimes  these  elongated,  bone- 
less ringers,  fashioned  out  of  curd,  and  sopped 
in  whey,  clasp  one  another  feebly  in  mild  des- 
pair. Its  bulbous  body  resembles  a  large  soap 
bubble,  filled  with  smoke;  it  is  a  spherical 
cloud  charged  with  forked  red  lightning;  dart- 
ing veins  appear  and  disappear;  little  fire- 
balls jet  fiercely  from  the  heart  and  are  buried 
in  vapory  tissues.  It  is  like  an  enormous 
blood-shot  eye,  ripped  from  the  socket  of  some 
monster,  and  still  sweating  great  tears;  its 
roots  are  a  tangle  of  jellied  streamers,  and 
in  the  center  of  it  is  a  shadowy  pupil,  whose 
stony  stare  is  fixed  upon  you  while  you  drive 
;i  sharp  bargain  in  the  market-place. 


82  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

This  is  the  delicious  squid,  the  devil-fish, 
dissolving  in  slow  death;  and  he  it  is,  when 
in  his  element,  who  brings  an  embarrassing 
period  to  a  swift  conclusion  by  disappearing 
under  a  squirt  of  ink — as  I  do  now. 


XVII. 

AMONG  THE  WREATH-MAKERS. 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 
have  I  thought  of  you,  dear  D 


with  your  pot  of  sweet  basil  on  the  win- 
dow seat,  and  Keats'  melodious  rhyme,  which 
we  were  wont  to  quote  upon  it. 

Oftener  have  I  thought  of  you  when  linger- 
ing among  the  wreath-makers,  who  ply  their 
delicate  trade  in  the  shadow  of  the  Queen's 
garden. 

The  wreath-makers  come  to  town  in  the 
morning  laden  with  cut  flowers;  a  calabash 
of  poi  and  a  quart  bucket  of  coffee  are  a 
necessary  portion  of  this  burden,  for  they 
come  to  make  a  day  of  it,  and  part  of  a  night, 
also. 

There  is  a  space  allotted  to   each   of   them 

on  the   pavement,  or    underneath    the    shop- 

windows,  or  along  the   saloon    verandas;  but 

the  most  pastoral  quarter  is  by  the  garden  of 

S3 


84  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

the  Dowager  Queen;  that  background  is  the 
fittest  for  these  primitive  bazaars,  which  are 
without  other  appurtenance  save  a  single  mat, 
barely  broad  enough  to  lie  upon.  Here  the 
wreath-maker  displays  her  wealth:  flowers, 
flowers,  flowers — of  all  colors,  forms,  and 
perfumes;  heaps  of  petals  and  coronas,  dis- 
membered corollas,  lying  in  fluffy  snow-drifts 
or  drifts  of  flaky  gold;  rose-tinted,  shell- 
shaped  leaves,  and  leaves  of  every  hue  pow- 
dered with  pollen;  pollen  dust  upon  the 
fingers  of  the  weavers,  who  with  long  thread- 
likerushes  make  ropes  wherewith  love  binds 
his  victims.  Color  and  form  and  perfume,  a 
triplication  of  beauty  to  hang  about  the  neck 
and  bind  the  brows  withal. 

All  day  these  wreaths — which  we  call  lets 
—are  for  sale  at  the  hands  of  drowsy  venders, 
who  are  squatted  out  of  doors  under  the  sun; 
and  in  the  evening,  when  the  glow-worm  lan- 
terns are  alight,  there  is  much  merriment  and 
brisk  bargaining,  for  the  unregenerate  youth 
of  the  land  go  to  and  fro,  crowning  one  another 
like  Bacchantes.  Color  and  form  and  frag- 
rance!— it  is  a  wonder  that  the  bee  does  not 
hive  with  these  flower  girls,  and  for  once  for- 


AMONG   THE    WREATH-MAKERS  85 

get  to  be  busy;  a  wonder  that  the  pendulous 
humming-bird  does  not  flash  like  a  flame,  or 
blossom  like  a  flower,  in  that  odoriferous  at- 
mosphere; but  they  don't — at  least,  not  to 
my  knowledge. 

Dusky  Lotharios  haunt  the  roe-eyed 
wearers  of  garlands,  and  babble  foolishly  as 
if  drunken  with  balsamic  balm.  The  pilgrim 
and  the  stranger  bends  his  neck  to  the  flower- 
yoke  with  ludicrous  precipitancy;  but  there 
comes  a  time  when  he  is  fully  acclimated, 
when  each  whiff  of  cocoanut  oil  dispels  an  illu- 
sion; when  he  discovers  that  Hawaiian  women 
are  not  all  young  and  not  all  fair;  when, 
in  passing  the  congregation  of  wreath-makers, 
his  nostrils  alone  are  elated  and  the  tipsy 
salute  of  young  Flora  in  the  dishevelled  holoku 
is  as  ineffectual  as  a  blast  from  a  trumpet- 
flower. 


XVIII. 

FROM  A  STUDIO 

HONOLULU,  H.  I. 
TT  is  a  perfect  barn  of  a  house,  the  only  one 

of  the  kind  in  the  kingdom,  and,  being  a 
veritable  studio,  as  the  needle  to  the  pole  it  has 
faced  about  upon  the  north,  and  stands  over 
against  the  chief  avenue  in  the  very  ecstasy 
of  triangulation.  Even  the  door  of  it  is  not 
visible  to  the  naked  eye;  the  weather-stained 
structure,  seasoned  in  sunshine  and  shower, 
looks  a  little  like  a  trap  to  catch  customers, 
and,  sure  enough,  that  is  just  what  it  is 
designed  for — in  common  with  studios  the 
world  over. 

Approaching  the  studio  you  cross  a  strip   of 
lawn,  where  the  ducks  waddle  in  solemn  pro 
cession,   and    where    cattle    browse    or    look 
dreamily  at  you,  divided  between  silent  med- 
itation and  the    grinding    of    the    convenient 


FROM    A    STUDIO  87 

cud;   and  then  you  slip    in    behind    a    lattice 
and  tap  at  a  pair  of  green  blinds. 

The  interior  is  of  a  smoked  meerschaum 
tint;  the  paint  there  has  been  devoted  exclu- 
sively to  canvases;  but  there  are  lots  of  these, 
in  all  stages  of  composition  and  decomposi- 
tion, as  the  case  may  be;  and  a  plentiful 
sprinkling  of  crayon  studies  and  arrangements 
in  black  and  white.  There  are  bits  of  faded 
drapery  of  the  tone  which  time  alone  imparts; 
and  stiff,  barbarously  decorated  bark-cloths 
from  the  south  seas;  canoe  models,  camp- 
stools,  easels,  and  divan;  portfolios  gaping 
full  of  pencil-notes  and  impressions;  a  jumble 
of  the  odds  and  ends  which  art  utilizes  and 
idealizes — and  a  guitar. 

Many  a  day  have  we  lounged  there  in  the 
off  hours,  most  of  us  more  or  less  known  to 
you;  many  an  evening  camped  under  the  airy 
roof-tree  and  told  stories  in  the  twilight, 
while  the  great  north  window  with  its  num- 
berless panes  of  glass  looked  like  a  square 
acre  in  heaven's  blue  diamond  fields.  Then 
music  awoke,  and  with  the  lamp-light  came 
cards  or  off-hand  sketches,  and  caricatures, 
jolly  souvenirs  of  the  occasion.  But  it  is  not 


88  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

this  phase  of  art-life  in  Oahu  that  I  choose 
to  write  of  this  murky  post-meridian. 

I  want  to  know  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me, 
if  you  can,  why  we  cluster  in  one  corner  of 
that  studio,  lie  back  in  the  easy  chairs,  and 
look  wistfully  through  the  smoke-rings  that 
float  like  haloes  above  our  heads,  while  we 
talk  of  Munich,  or  of  Monterey,  or  of  Barbi- 
zon? 

Is  it  because  the  beery  young  Bauer,  with 
the  tow-head  and  pomegranate  cheeks,  whose 
portrait  hangs  there  on  the  wall,  reminds  us 
of  student  life  in  the  old  Bavarian  ex-monas- 
tical  academy?  Is  it  because  the  strip  of 
beach,  with  the  gray  gulls  soaring  among  the 
cypresses,  recalls  the  dead  and  alive  era  of 
California's  now  resurrected  ancient  and  orig- 
inal capital?  Or  because  the  lonely  winding 
path  in  the  very  dark  wood,  with  the  very 
blue  and  white  sky  breaking  through  it,  trans- 
ports us  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  to  the 
forests  of  Fontainebleau?  Or  is  it  merely 
the  perversity  of  man,  who  is  never  quite  sat- 
isfied, and  would  no  doubt  be  utterly  miser- 
able if  all  his  ends  could  be  easily  accom- 
plished? 


FROM    A   STUDIO  89 

I  know  that  were  we  to  shut  up  shop  on 
the  avenue,  and  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon  in  any  one  of  the  three  art  centers 
above  referred  to,  a  single  glance  at  the  studies 
we  would  surely  take  with  us — at  this  palm- 
tree  in  aquarelle,  for  instance;  or  that  reef 
with  the  green  wave  arching  over  it;  or  yon- 
der sunset  valley,  filled  with  ferns  and  water- 
falls— would  awaken  a  thousand  longings  and 
regrets;  then,  one  mess  of  tropical  pottage 
would  be  more  to  our  taste  than  all  the  birth- 
rights in  the  universe — and  this  is  the  taste 
of  man  from  Adam's  natal-day  to  kingdom 
come. 

Never  you  mind,  dear  boy,  we  have  had 
studio  junketings  the  very  memory  of  which 
rolls  as  a  sweet  morsel  under  the  tongue.  We 
have  lived,  my  boy,  we  have  lived!  The 
landscape  and  the  seascape  have  been  our 
meat  and  our  drink,  when  we  hungered  and 
were  athirst  for  exactly  that  sort  of  nourish- 
ment; and  jf  it  is  our  destiny  to  be  eventually 
numbered  among  the  blessed  company  of  the 
impoverished,  we  can  at  least  perish  in  the 
cause  of  art  and  for  the  love  of  it,  and  with 
the  hope  of  receiving  the  approbation  of  the 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 


immortals  who  were  martyred  in  like  manner 
before  us,  and  who  are  now  dwellers  in  the 
highest  heaven! 


XIX. 

FETES  AND  FURIES. 

HONOLULU,  H,  I. 

ask  if  the  Hawaiian  Fete  is  as  popular, 
populous,  and  peculiar  as  it  was  in  early 
days,  when  you  rounded  the  Horn  before  the 
mast,  and  came  ashore — for  your  health. 

No!  a  thousand  times,  No!  Occasionally 
majesty  entertains  a  roving  prince  in  his  sum- 
mer house  at  Waikiki.  It  is  an  affair  in  which 
the  brass  band,  brass  buttons,  champagne, 
and  poi  become  more  or  less  confused  by 
eventide. 

Sometimes  the  flower  of  Hawaii,  a  flower 
that  has  been  grafted  almost  beyond  a  recog- 
nition, takes  to  the  saddle,  and  to  the  woods 
that  shelter  the  enchanting  vales  on  our  side 
of  the  island.  There  one  finds  song  and 
dance  and  a  /<?z-feed;  and  when  the  festive 
company  returns  to  town,  swathed  in  garlands 
91 


92  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  wild-flowers,  and  troops  gayly  from  house 
to  house,  the  sight  is  captivating.  Even  you, 
with  your  everlasting  reminiscences,  would 
prick  up  an  ear  and  twinkle  an  eye,  and  catch 
a  short  breath  or  two,  my  fine  fellow. 

As  for  the  regulation  hop,  it  is  much  the 
same  as  elsewhere,  with,  however,  superior 
pictorial  and  climatic  effects.  Imagine  your- 
self whirling  your  partner  in  the  languid  waltz 
within  ten  paces  of  the  moonlit  sea.  It  is  not 
too  warm  under  the  broad-roofed  lanai,  three 
sides  of  which — I  mean  three  walls  of  the 
room — have  been  thrown  open  to  the  gentle 
zephyr.  It  is  not  too  cool  upon  the  hard, 
white  shore,  which  is  the  promenade;  and  the 
surf  yonder  makes  music  that  harmonizes  and 
tranquilizes,and  almost  mesmerizes  the  list- 
ener the  whole  night  long. 

The  National  Fetes  are,  for  the  most  part, 
National  fizzles;  there  is  nothing  Hawaiian 
about  them;  and  probably  we  shall  never 
again  know  the  brave,  semi-barbarous,  sen- 
suously seductive  feasts  that  were  the  pride 
of  this  nation  in  its  prime.  Of  course  there 
are  fetes  of  which  the  public  sees  nothing 
without  climbing  over  a  fence  or  spying 


FETES    AND    FURIES  93 

through  a  knot-hole,  and  hears  nothing  beyond 
the  boom  of  the  calabash  and  the  gurgle  of 
passionate  gutturals;  but  these  are  private 
and  confidential,  and  do  not  concern  us  per- 
sonally. 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  fetes  have  been  wor- 
ried to  death  by  the  furies.  Of  the  two  I  in- 
finitely prefer  the  fetes!  It  was  the  incom- 
parable Charles  Lamb  who  wrote  of  "that 
fiercest  and  savagest  of  all  wild  creatures, 
the  Tongue."  Tongue  keeps  longer  in  this 
climate  than  anything  else  in  it!  There  is 
nothing  in  the  whole  Hawaiian  market  live- 
lier than  Tongue !  There  are  good  people 
here  who  keep  watch  and  ward  over  the  un- 
ruly member;  who  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voices 
that  are  in  the  air — and  the  air  is  full  of  them 
— but  it  has  been  frequently  observed  that  a 
tendency  to  gossip  is  peculiar  to  the  climate; 
this  and  the  pestiferous  south  wind  are  its 
only  objectionable  features. 

I  have  heard  of  one  person  in  this  kingdom, 
who,  without  a  rag  of  reputation  himself,  will, 
on  the  slightest  provocation,  strip  the  fig-leaf 
of  modesty  from  the  most  chaste  in  the  land. 
From  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  not  a  maid, 


94  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

wife,  or  widow,  but  he  has  brutally  defamed; 
missing  links  in  the  damning  chain  of  evidence 
he  miraculously  discovers  and  supplies;  there 
are  none  to  dispute  him,  because  it  is  easier 
to  lie  than  to  disprove  a  lie.  It  is  apparently 
his  mission  on  earth  to  befoul  the  fairest,  and 
with  forked  tongue  spit  at  the  children  of 
light.  It  is  the  breath  of  these  nameless  scan- 
dal-breeders and  scandal-mongers,  that,  like  a 
malaria,  poisons  the  social  atmosphere;  but,  I 
may  add,  the  defamer  is  comparatively  power- 
less in  the  field  where  he  most  flourishes;  the 
dilapidated  character  still  does  duty  after  a 
fashion — I  have  never  known  one  to  be  placed 
upon  the  retired  list;  thank  heaven,  we  can 
forgive,  even  though  we  do  not  forget.  The 
sting  is  not  so  serious  when  one  gets  used  to 
it,  and  there  is  always  the  antidote — indiffer- 
ence. 

Perhaps  we  should  be  all  more  or  less  ex- 
cusable in  our  misconceptions,  for  who  can 
tell  how  radiant  a  soul  may  be,  shut  as  it  is 
in  the  dark  lantern  of  this  too,  too  solid  flesh? 
You  are  secure:  the  arrows  fall  short  where 
the  object  aimed  at  dwells  apart,  like  a  star, 
immeasurably  remote — as  you  do.  As  for 


FETES    AND    FURIES  95 

myself,  by  heaven,  if  an  arrow  flies  this  way, 
I  receive  it  with  the  unction  of  a  St.  Sebas- 
tian! 


XX. 

SIESTA. 

STAG-RACKET  BUNGALOW,  HONOLULU,  H.  I. 

TF  you  are  coming  over  the  sea  to  the  Bun- 
galow, as  you  promised  me  you  would,  come 
early  in  the  day,  or  defer  your  advent  till  about 
dinner  time,  say  5:30  p.  M.  by  your  stem- 
winder,  for  only  at  such  times  shall  I  be  in 
readiness  to  give  you  welcome. 

I'll  tell  you  why  I  make  this  suggestion:  It 
is  written:  "He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep,"  but 
the  hours  are  not  numbered.  I  usually  take 
mine  from  2  to  4  P.  M.  Everything  flows  on 
finely  until  2  o'clock,  and  then  the  tide  turns 
or  begins  to  turn,  and  I'm  pretty  certain  to 
back  water.  Three  o'clock  is  the  forlorn 
hour;  it  doesn't  seem  to  belong  to  anybody 
in  particular;  it  is  apparently  thrown  in 
merely  to  round  out  the  four-and-twenty;  but 
it  must  be  got  through  with  somehow.  I 
sleep  through  it,  and  awake  refreshed,  ready 
96 


SIESTA  97 

to  greet  the  returning  Bungalow  Boys,  and 
afterward  to  dine  heartily,  and  to  pass  an 
evening  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  my  faculties. 

Lo!  the  poor  business  man,  who  gives  him- 
self to  mercantile  pursuits  with  all  his  heart, 
and  with  all  his  soul,  and  with  all  his  strength; 
who  spends  his  life  in  riotous  money-making; 
who  sits  up  all  day,  and  worries  all  night ; 
who  waxes  wealthy;  but  the  rich  man  and  the 
camel  are  named  in  the  same  breath  in  script- 
ure, and  the  camel  has  rather  the  better  of 
Croesus — riches  enter  not  into  the  kingdom 
of  heaven;  he  has  lived  in  vain!  The  fact 
is,  one  needs  a  double  portion  of  sleep  now- 
adays in  order  to  counteract  the  baleful  influ- 
ences of  this  modern  civilization — a  civiliza- 
tion that  is  constantly  inventing  new  diseases. 

The  Bungalow  Boys  are  workers,  but  then 
they  are  still  boys,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
they  will  outgrow  this  vicious  habit, 

I  also  work,  but  never  before  any  one,  and 
only  for  the  fun  of  it.  By  8  A.  M.  I  am  left 
stark  alone  in  the  Bungalow;  its  chambers 
are  open  and  empty,  and  throughout  them 
the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth;  but  my 
writing  table  is  in  a  sheltered  corner,  and 


98  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

when  I  have  burned  out  my  after-breakfast 
cigarette,  I  tip  up  the  hour-glass,  dip  pen, 
and  begin. 

At  intervals  the  Irish  terriers  hunt  the  stray 
coolie  in  the  back  lot;  at  intervals  the  parrot 
stops  crying  like  a  baby  or  screaming  like  a 
fish-wife,  and  nods  in  her  creaking  swing;  at 
intervals  the  black  cat  appears  in  the  doorway 
and  stops  there  for  a  moment,  lifting  first  one 
foot  and  then  the  other,  as  if  the  floor  were 
too  hot  for  her;  she  would  mew  if  she  could, 
and  she  does  open  her  mouth  as  if  she  were 
yawning,  but  that  interior  is  as  silent  as  a  red 
morocco-lined  portmoanie  with  nothing  in  it 
but  two  white  teeth;  she  is  bob-tailed  and 
dumb,  and  she  disappears  suddenly,  discharg- 
ing herself  through  the  passage  as  if  she  had 
been  shot  from  a  spring-trap. 

Akama,  the  domestic,  passes  noiselessly 
through  the  chambers  at  intervals  with  heavy 
lids  falling  over  small,  dim  eyes:  he  seems  as 
if  reluctantly  waking  from  an  opium  dream; 
he  is  a  somnambulist,  a  lotus  eater,  an  indul- 
gent and  indulged  retainer,  without  whom 
bungalow  life  were  a  blank. 

At  intervals — very    rare    intervals — I    look 


SIESTA  99 

out  of  the  window  and  see  a  Kanaka  among 
the  thistles  in  the  meadow  above,  toiling  like 
a  new  Adam  after  a  recent  fall — but  he  toils 
only  at  intervals. 

When  the  crystal  balloons  of  the  hour-glass 
have  shifted  their  sand-ballast  I  know  it  is 
time  to  take  a  smoke,  for  idle  as  I  pretend  to 
be,  I  am  as  well-regulated  as  an  eight-day 
clock;  there  is  method  in  my  madness;  I  am 
consistent  even  in  the  very  tempest  and  whirl- 
wind of  my  inconsistency.  You  know  Gail 
Hamilton  says:  "Consistency  is  the  bug-bear 
of  small,  inactive  minds;"  it  never  said  "Boo!" 
to  me. 

Sometimes  there  is  a  lapse,  during  which 
the  clock  ticks  loudly,  but  this  soothes  rather 
than  alarms  me;  my  pen  is  poised  in  dream- 
like paralysis;  I  take  unsubstantial  comfort 
during  these  periods  of  suspended  animation, 
and  have  at  such  times  composed  whole  libra- 
ries in  my  head,  dictating  them  under  the 
breath  to  imaginary  amanuenses. 

Something  recalls  me  to  my  pleasurable 
duty;  up  goes  the  hour-glass,  down  goes  the 
pen;  so  long  as  the  sands  trickle  the  ink 
trickles  with  them;  in  fact,  we  train  together 
very  nicely. 


100  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

By  and  by  I  begin  to  run  slowly;  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  sands  of  time  are  likewise  slug- 
gish or  damp;  copy  no  longer  flows  freely;  it 
filters  painfully,  and  its  sparkle,  if  it  ever  had 
any,  has  gone  out  entirely.  Alas  for  those 
whose  brain  must  still  dribble  and  sweat  un- 
der the  spatulate  thumb  of  necessity! 

I  know  when  it  is  time  to  stop;  the  parrot 
has  smothered  herself  in  feathers;  the  dogs 
are  in  the  cool  passage,  lying  flat  on  their 
backs  with  all  four  legs  in  the  air;  the  cat 
and  Akama  have  succumbed.  A  large  blue- 
bottle fly  swoops  down  upon  my  table  and 
sits  by  me,  diligently  washing  his  hands  in  in- 
visible soap  and  water;  at  last  dominical 
quietude  reigns  over  all. 

I  darken  the  room,  spread  my  mosquito 
tent,  and  solemnly  don  the  trailing  garments 
of  the  night. 

One  final  glance  upon  the  town  below  there 
assures  me  that  the  curse  of  Cain  is  on  it. 
The  glare  of  the  sun  magnifies  it;  there  is  no 
rest  within  its  borders;  at  least  the  business 
quarters  says  "It  is  not  in  me!"  and  the  blaz- 
ing and  blinding  deep  says  "It  is  not  in  me!" 
but  it  is  always  in  stock  at  the  Bungalow,  and 


SIESTA  IOI 

a  little  of  this  leaven  leavens   my   daily    loaf. 

The  wind  sighs  plaintively  through  my 
chamber;  I  hear  the  clash  of  wings  as  two 
dragon-flies  do  battle  in  mid-air,  but  anon 
they  depart  precipitantly  with  much  delirious 
bumping  of  their  heads.  The  pictures  begin 
to  fade  upon  the  walls;  with  half-shut  eyes  I 
watch  them  as  their  perspective  goes  mad 
and  stretches  to  the  crack  of  doom — wherever 
that  may  be. 

By  this  time  I  find  myself  upon  the  verge 
of  that  downy  vale  into  which  we  sometimes 
drop  all  of  a  sudden,  and  always  backward, 
and  feel  ourselves  dropping,  but  we  are  asleep 
before  we  touch  bottom.  It  happens,  per- 
haps, that  the  clock  strikes  at  this  moment, 
its  strokes  commingle,  and  the  vibration  is 
as  terrific  as  though  a  thunderbolt  were  to 
smite  a  gong  a  mile  in  circumference — but  I 
no  longer  care.  Upon  the  delicious  brink  of 
insensibility,  I  catch  on  just  long  enough  to 
assure  myself  that,  notwithstanding  the  scant- 
iness of  the  Hawaiian  terrestrial  area  and  the 
superabundance  of  Hawaiian  self-esteem — 
notwithstanding  the  corruption  in  high  places, 
the  false  prophecies  of  the  local  press,  the 


102  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

arrogance  of  the  professional  abstainer,  the 
duplicity  of  the  confidant,  the  blatant  impiety, 
the  pietistical  hypocrisy,  the  monopolies,  reci- 
procities, and  all  the  annoying  remainder— 
the  Bungalow  Boys  can  retire  nightly  with 
the  blessed  consciousness  that  there  is  at  least 
one  house  in  the  kingdom  which  is  above  sus- 
picion, and  that  we  inhabit  it!  .... 


XXI. 

WITH  ALOHA! 

DEVERED,  BELOVED: — "Ask  me  no  more!" 
While  you  prate  of  your  autumnal  tints, 
I  can  show  you  richer  and  riper  ones  at  al- 
most any  season  of  the  year.  You  boast  of 
your  snows ;  we  have  them  also  on  the  mount- 
ains, and  we  can  get  at  any  time  in  the 
twelvemonth  a  cool,  bracing  atmosphere  on 
our  highlands,  such  as  is  not  to  be  found  on 
yours  during  summer.  Nor  is  our  heat  so 
oppressive  as  yours,  and  it  is  never  fatal ;  and, 
moreover,  an  uninterrupted  course  of  sea- 
bathing is  practicable  in  this  delectable  clime. 
Why  should  we  elsewhere  seek  literature, 
society,  etc.,  when  they  come  to  us  by  every 
vessel,  and  here  we  can  enjoy  them  un- 
molested ? 

"Ask  me  no  more!"     The  wind  is  plucking 
the  blossoms  from    wonderful   trees,  such    as 
would  not  flower  in  your    latitude.     Tourists 
103 


104  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

are  lounging  in^the  verandas  of  the  cottages 
scattered  over  the  hotel  grounds;  there  will 
presently  be  a  gathering  in  the  big,  breezy 
dining-room  down  yonder,  and  after  that  such 
mild  diversions  as  are  not  likely  to  disturb 
your  neighbor's  nap. 

There  is  no  wear  and  tear  here,  unless  it  be 
at  a  "/tf/'-feed;"  and  even  the  "/0z-feed"  has 
its  special  restorative,  the  application  of 
which  may  be  classed  among  the  beatitudes. 

There  are  no  railway  accidents  here;  no 
bridge  panics,  no  holocausts,  no  hoodlums; 
the  slightest  event  is  cheerfully  magnified, 
and  made  to  do  duty  for  the  blood-curdling 
sensations  upon  which  you  feed — a  diet  that 
is,  permit  me  to  observe,  hastening  you  to  an 
untimely  grave.  All  that  sort  of  thing  is 
out  of  place  in  this  kingdom,  and  not  to  be 
tolerated.  It  is  not  that  I  love  life,  as  you 
call  it,  less,  but  repose  more,  that  I  refuse  to 
return  into  the  world  yet  awhile. 

The  age  is  too  fresh!  It  is  well  to  with- 
draw from  the  madding  crowd  at  intervals 
and  possess  one's  soul  in  patience;  therefore, 
with  alolia  I  decline  your  gracious  invitation 
to  join  you  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness  at 


WITH  ALOHA!  105 

Coney  Island,  the  Adirondacks,  or  Yosemite; 
and  with  aloha  I  beseech  you  to  repent  while 
it  is  yet  day,  and  share  with  us  the  unrivaled 
fruits  of  idleness  in  a  land  where  it  is  almost 
always  afternoon;  where  the  wicked  cease 
from  troubling,  as  it  were;  and  where  the 
weary  are,  for  the  time  being,  comparatively 
at  rest!  Aloha  and  aloha! 

P.  S. — As  for  the  idyls  of  my  idyllic  youth 
the  shadowy  ones,  the  fair  and  frail,  the  be- 
loved, bewailed,  bewitching,  and  bewitched 
idolaters — zephyrs  have  sung  them  to  their 
rest,  and  upon  their  nameless  graves  "the  in- 
iquity of  oblivion  blindly  scattereth  his 
poppy." 


XXII. 

HOW  THE  KING  CAME  HOME 

DRAY  tell  me,  is  it  better  to  laugh  or  to 
sigh  over  lost  illusions?  You  know  they 
are  never  found  again.  Even  good  St.  An- 
thony does  not  care  to  restore  these.  Once 
gone,  they  are  gone  forever  and  a  day.  Other 
illusions  may  lie  in  wait  for  us;  other  disap- 
pointments may  follow  them,  and  perhaps 
forgetfulness  will  come  to  our  relief  at  last; 

•but  the  great  originals  shall  never  more  re- 
turn. This  is  the  way  of  the  world,  and  no 
doubt  you  all  know  it  well  enough — but  why 
do  I  write  in  this  vein  to-day? 

I've  just  been  thinking  of  that  poor,  dear 
little  Hawaii.  I  was  quite  in  the  mood  for 
hunting  up  an  old  book,  bearing  my  name 

•upon  the  title-page.     The  book  I   refer  to   is 

known  in  England  as  "Summer  Cruising  in  the 

South  Seas."     It  was  published  by  Chatto,  of 

London,  in  1873.      It  is  a  reprint  of  the  first 

106 


HOW  THE  KING  CAME  HOME      IO/ 

Boston  edition  of  "South  Sea  Idyls."  Chatto 
said,  somewhat  scornfully:  "That  title  will 
never  go  in  this  country.  People  will  suspect 
you  of  being  a  poet  and  your  book  will  remain 
unopened."  Therefore  the  "Idyls"  were  re- 
christened,  so  that  "he  that  runs  may  read;" 
lest,  peradventure,  under  the  old  title'he  that 
reads  may  runi 

Well,  I've  had  sufficient  curiosity  to  reread 
a  preface  I  furnished  a  score  of  years  ago  at 
the  request  of  my  London  publisher, — an  im- 
pulsive preface,  with  youth  and  inexperience 
written  all  over  the  face  of  it.  And  since  the 
reading  thereof  I've  been  wondering  if  I  yearn 
for  those  Southern  Seas  as  ardently  as  I  used 
to  once  upon  a  time,  or  if  this  all  too  ardent 
preface  is  but  the  proof  of  another  lost  illusion. 

Of  course  the  thing  makes  me  laugh,  some- 
what sadly;  a  man  has  a  right  to  laugh  at  him- 
self,— his  other  self,  the  self  of  twenty  years 
ago.  Who  of  us  can  help  doing  this?  But  I 
don't  like  to  laugh  alone.  Will  you  join  me? 
Behold  what  havoc  the  fever  of  youth  wrought 
in  me!  Could  anything  be  more  absurdly 
boyish  than  this?  Could  any  one  be  more 
blindly  daring  than  I  when  I  made  reference 


108  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

to  Lord  Macaulay's  New  Zealander  in  the  land 
of  his  adoption  and,  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  very  Bridge  with  which  he  is  associated  ? 
Even  twenty  years  ago  he  was  "a  scorn  and 
a  hissing,"  and  had  quite  outlived  his  useful- 
ness. 

Oh  ingenuous  Infancy!  What  a  multitude 
of  sins  you  cover,  or  propitiate!  Well,  let 
us  glance  at  the  preface  and  have  done  with 
it.  Here  it  is,  word  for  word — barring  a 
typographical  error  or  two.  It  is  offered  in  a 
due  spirit  of  humility,  and  without  further 
apology: 

The  experiences  recorded  in  this  volume 
are  the  result  of  five  summer  cruises  among 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific. 

The  simple  and  natural  life  of  the  islander 
beguiles  me;  I  am  at  home  with  him;  all  the 
rites  of  savagedom  find  a  responsive  echo  in 
my  heart.  It  is  as  though  I  recollect  some- 
thing long  forgotten;  it  is  like  a  dream  dimly 
remembered,  and  at  last  realized.  It  must 
be  that  the  untamed  spirit  of  some  aboriginal 
ancestor  quickens  my  blood. 

I  have  sought  to  reproduce  the  atmosphere 
of  a  people  who  are  wonderfully  imaginative 
and  emotional;  they  nourish  the  first  symp- 
toms of  an  affinity,  and  revel  in  the  freshness 


HOW  THE  KING  CAME  HOME      IOQ 

of  an  affection  as  brief  and  blissful  as  a  honey- 
moon. 

With  them  "love  is  enough,"  and  it  is  not 
necessarily  one  with  the  sexual  passion:  their 
life  is  sensuous  and  picturesque,  and  is  incapa- 
ble of  a  true  interpretation  unless  viewed 
from  their  own  standpoint. 

To  them  our  civilization  is  a  cross,  the 
blessed  promises  of  which  are  scarcely  suffi- 
cient to  compensate  for  the  pain  of  bearing  it; 
and  they  are  inclined  to  look  upon  our  back- 
slidings  in  a  spirit  of  profound  forbearance. 

Among  them  no  laws  are  valid  save  Nature's 
own,  but  they  abide  faithfully  by  these. 

His  lordship's  threadbare  New  Zealander 
sitting  upon  a  crumbling  arch  of  London 
Bridge,  recently  restored,  and  finding  too  late 
that  he  had  forestalled  his  mission,  would 
know  my  feelings  as  I  offer  this  plea  for  his 
tribe.  And  any  one  who  instinctively  lags  in 
the  march  of  progress,  and  marks  the  decay 
of  nature;  any  one  to  whom  the  highly  edu- 
cated grass-hopper  is  a  burden,  must  see  that 
my  case  is  critical. 

Yet  in  imagination  I  may,  at  the  shortest 
notice,  return  to  the  sea-girt  arena  of  my  ad- 
ventures, and  restore  my  unregenerated  soul. 

Limited  flagons  cannot  stay  me,  neither 
will  small  apples  comfort  me.  I  have  eaten 
of  the  Tree  of  Life;  my  spirit  is  full-fledged; 
and  when  I  take  wing,  I  feel  the  earth  sinking 


IIO  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

beneath  me;  the  mountains  crumble,  the 
clouds  crouch  under  me,  the  waters  rise  and 
flow  out  to  the  horizon;  across  my  breast  the 
sunbeams  brush,  leaving  half  their  gold  be- 
hind them;  sea  upon  sea  fills  up  the  hollow 
of  the  universe.  I  soar  into  eternity,  blue 
wastes  below  me,  blue  wastes  above  me;  the 
stars  only  to  mark  the  upper  strata  of  space. 

Day  after  day  I  wing  my  tireless  flight,  and 
the  past  is  forgotten  in  the  radiance  of  the 
dawning  future. 

Land  at  last!  A  green  islet  sails  within 
the  compass  of  my  vision.  Land  at  last! 
Crumbs  of  earth,  fragments  of  paradise,  litter 
the  broad  ocean  like  strewn  leaves.  A  myriad 
reefs  and  shoals  wreath  the  blue  hemisphere; 
the  moan  of  the  surf  rises  like  a  grand  anthem ; 
the  fragrance  of  tropic  bowers  ascends  like 
incense.  I  pause  in  my  giddy  flight,  and  sink 
into  the  bosom  of  the  dusk. 

Sunset  transfigures  the  earth;  the  woods 
are  rosy  with  glowing  bars  of  light;  long 
shadows  float  upon  the  waves  like  weeds;  gar- 
dens of  sea-grass  rock  forever  between  daylight 
and  darkness,  tinted  with  changeful  lights. 

I  know  the  songs  of  those  distant  lands; 
there  have  I  sought  and  found  unbroken  rest ; 
again  I  return  to  you,  my  beloved  South;  and, 
after  many  days  of  storm  and  shine,  I  touch 
upon  your  glimmering  shores,  flushed  with  the 
renewal  of  my  passionate  love  for  you. 


HOW  THE  KING  CAME  HOME      III 

Again  I  dive  beneath  your  coral  caves; 
again  I  thread  the  sunless  depths  of  your  un- 
fading forests;  and  there,  finally,  I  hope  to 
fold  my  drooping  wings,  where  the  flowers 
breathe  and  fountains  tinkle  within  the  soli- 
tude of  your  moonlit  ivory  chambers. 

O  literary  Death,  where  is  thy  sting,  while 
this  happy  hunting  ground  awaits  me? 

In  the  singularly  expressive  tongue  of  my 
barbarian  brother, 

Aloha  aoi!     Love  to  you! 

There,  little  preface,  so  gushing  and  so 
guileless,  go  back  into  that  dark  corner  of  the 
top  shelf  and  gather  the  dust  as  of  yore ;  really, 
we  have  no  further  use  for  you.  The  times 
have  changed  since  you  first  saw  the  light;  so 
new,  without  you,  and  in  quite  another  mood, 
let  me  revisit  that  fairy-land  of  yore;  let  me 
recall  something  of  its  life  and  landscape  while 
it  is  still  fresh  in  my  memory. 

Ah,  yes!  This  is  how  the  late  King  came 
home  to  his  people  after  having  circumnavi- 
gated the  globe  with  his  retinue.  I  chanced 
to  be  on  the  same  ship  with  his  Majesty  dur- 
ing the  voyage  between  San  Francisco  and 
Honolulu;  and,  as  we  were  old  acquaintances, 
we  were  naturally  more  or  less  familiar.  The 


112  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

divinity  that  hedges  in  a  Hawaiian  king  is 
not  calculated  to  blanch  the  cheek  of  even 
the  most  delicate  and  impressionable  of  aliens, 
and  was  I  not  quite  at  home  with  these  gen- 
tlest of  savages  ? 

After  long  years  I  returned  again  to  the  iso- 
lated land  whose  idylic  life  infatuated  me  in 
my  youth.  It  was  nine  years  since  I  had  last 
visited  these  isles.  Then  I  had  embarked 
with  an  adventurous  crew  on  a  voyage  of  spec- 
ulation among  the  reef-bound  constellations  of 
the  South  Pacific.  We  tripped  anchor  one 
day  and  went  out  with  the  tide.  San  Fran- 
cisco was  drenched  in  fog.  Feeling  our  way 
in  the  gray  chaos  of  mist  that  choked  the  Gol- 
den Gate,  we  rolled  into  the  teeth  of  a  gale 
that  had  apparently  been  lying  in  wait  for  us. 
We  were  a  mere  morsel  for  such  monstrous 
greed,  but  a  choice  one;  and  for  five  and 
twenty  days  we  quivered  between  life  and 
death  in  a  black  and  quaking  sea.  When  we 
got  our  reckoning,  the  first  since  leaving  port, 
we  were  away  up  in  the  vicinity  of  Japan. 
In  the  twilight  of  the  thirty-third  day  we 
set  foot  on  shore  at  Honolulu,  where  I  forth- 
with deserted.  The  voyage  was  completed 


HOW   THE    KING    CAME   HOME  I  I  3 

three  weeks  ago  by  a  bark  not  a  year  old,  in 
eight  days  and  seventeen  hours;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  our  schooner  was  antiquated,  and 
had  been  a  vagabond  all  her  days. 

At  this  present  writing  we  have  accom- 
plished the  passage  in  exactly  seven  days. 
The  steamer  left  San  Francisco  on  time — not 
often  the  case,  as  she  is  bound  to  await  the 
arrival  of  the  English  mail.  And  as  we  had 
King  Kalakaua  on  board,  the  captain,  who 
was  not  sparing  of  fuel,  in  conjunction  with 
that  indulgent  individual  Old  Probabilities, 
managed  to  run  us  into  port  about  thirty-six 
hours  before  the  several  Committees  on  the 
Royal  Reception  were  ready  to  receive  his 
Majesty.  This  we  knew  nothing  of.  Con- 
sequently when  we  sighted  the  blue  peaks  of 
Maui,  ran  under  the  lone  shadows  of  Molokai, 
whither  the  unhappy  lepers  are  banished  for 
life,  and  then  made  for  Koko  Head  and  Oahu, 
beyond  which  lay  our  harbor,  we  clinked 
glasses  with  the  King,  and  the  congratulations 
were  mutual  and  profuse. 

Nearing  port,  skirting  the  palm-fringed 
shore,  we  watched  the  tawny  bluffs,  where 
the  sea  broke  bravely  and  scattered  its  spray 


114  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

like  snow;  the  long  ribbons  of  dazzling  beach; 
the  small  grass  huts  at  intervals,  with  here 
and  there  a  tiny  white  chapel  and  a  pointed 
spire,  looking  very  much  like  toys.  The  lit- 
tlest possible  beasts  cantered  along  the  shingle 
on  their  way  to  the  Capital  to  welcome  the 
returning  King.  They  seemed  to  be  hast- 
ening mechanically,  while  pretty  clouds 
shook  out  brief  showers  and  unfurled  bright 
rainbows,  one  after  another,  then  passed 
onward  into  the  vast  silence.  A  sail  or  two 
rocked  on  the  sparkling  sea,  changing  the 
light  and  shade  with  every  tack.  It  was  very 
like  one  of  those  German  pictorial  clocks, 
whose  puppets  live  out  their  mimic  lives  long 
after  the  dust  of  the  inventor  has  been  scat- 
tered. 

Meanwhile  King  Kalakaua  was  watching 
the  tiny  kingdom  that  had  a  few  hours  before 
risen  from  he  sea,  as  it  were.  He  knew  every 
rod  of  it;  it  was  his,  although  he  didn't  make 
it,  nor  have  anything  to  do  with  the  making 
of  it;  but  he  was  born  in  the  image  of  those 
who  peopled  it  when  the  valleys  rang  with 
heroic  traditions.  He  had  the  languid  ease, 
the  consoling  fatalism,  the  gladsome  super- 


HOW   THE   KING   CAME   HOME 


stition  of  his  race.  It  was  bred  in  the  bone, 
and  the  tours  of  forty  worlds  could  not  have 
educated  him  out  of  it.  He  showed  less  of  it 
than  the  majority  of  his  people,  knowing  well 
how  to  disguise  it.  He  even  affected  Bohe- 
mianism  to  a  degree,  and  once  remarked  to 
Rochefort  that  he  was  the  only  republican  in 
his  kingdom;  meanwhile  having  said  to  me 
that  what  the  citizens  of  the  United  States 
were  most  in  need  of  was  an  emperor,  and 
that  the  United  States  must  become,  an  em- 
pire. 

Oh  what  a  King  was  he  !  Such  a  King  as 
one  reads  of  in  nursery  tales.  He  was  all 
things  to  all  men,  a  most  companionable  per- 
son. Possessed  of  rare  refinement,  he  was 
as  much  at  ease  with  a  crew  of  "rollicking 
rams"  as  in  the  throne-room.  He  had  many 
and  varied  experiences,  and  was  apparently 
ready  for  others.  He  had  "run  with  the 
machine"  in  the  Volunteer  Fire  Department, 
and  risen  to  the  dignity  of  foreman.  Once 
he  edited  a  paper  in  his  native  tongue;  it 
flourished  under  the  mouth-filling  title  of 
Hoku  i  ka  Pakipika.  (Star  of  the  Pacific.) 
But  this  was  in  the  halcyon  days  of  adoles- 


Il6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

cence,  before  he  had  dreamed  of  the  throne 
and  of  circumnavigation.  His  Queen,  with 
pathetic  and  patrician  pride,  refused  to  utter 
one  word  of  English,  although  she  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  language.  She  invariably 
replied  in  her  own  tongue,  thus  often  making 
the  services  of  an  interpreter  indispensable. 

As  we  approached  Oahu,  we  saw  smoke  sig- 
nals ascending;  the  filmy  threads  floating  up- 
ward were  caught  by  passing  winds  and  spir- 
ited away,  beckoning  to  one  another  from  the 
hill-tops;  and  long  before  we  were  abreast  of 
the  Capital  the  populace  was  at  the  water- 
side to  give  us  welcome.  A  spirited  cannon- 
ade aroused  uncommon  enthusiasm.  Noth- 
ing less  could  have  accomplished  that  end  in 
that  drowsy  little  world.  The  yards  of  the 
Russian  fleet  in  port  were  quickly  manned. 
Punch-bowl,  an  old  crater  in  the  rear  of  the 
Capital,  blazed  away  in  fine  style;  all  the  bells 
in  town  jangled,  and  cheer  upon  cheer  rolled 
out  over  the  placid  sea.  There  were  the 
usual  addresses  of  welcome  in  English  and 
Hawaiian;  and  a  very  creditable  procession 
followed  the  royal  leader,  under  triumphal 
arches  and  canopies  of  flags,  from  the  Espla- 


HOW    THE    KING    CAME    HOME  I  I  / 

nade  to  the  palace  gate.  Words  of  greeting, 
chiefly  in  Hawaiian,  were  emblazoned  on  every 
hand,  such  as:  "Great  Love  to  Kalakau"; 
"Return,  Oh  King!"  "Hawaii  is  the  Best"; 
"Oh,  the  Blessed,  the  Chosen  One!"  "We 
are  All  the  King's  Own";  "Rest,  Oh  King!" 
etc. 

The  Chinese,  whose  mission  it  is  to  rush  in 
where  angels  fear  to  tread,  erected  a  gaudy 
calico  kiosk,  quite  as  fantastic  as  anything 
one  could  hope  to  find  in  a  spectacular  drama. 
It  bore  these  significant  sentiments:  "Wel- 
comed by  the  Children  of  the  Flowery  Land," 
and  "Hawaii  and  China  have  joined  hands." 
The  most  noticeable  feature  in  the  decorations 
was  the  resurrection  of  an  ancient  symbol  of 
savage  royalty,  called  the  "Pulaulau," — a  low 
wooden  cross  supported  by  a  globe,  and 
having  on  each  arm  a  flaming  beacon.  These 
were  planted  along  the  line  of  the  procession 
at  frequent  intervals,  and  were  very  effective. 
So  also  were  the  illuminations,  which,  though 
not  general — for  enthusiasm  does  not  keep  long 
in  this  climate, — were  in  some  cases  singu- 
larly beautiful.  The  quaint  towers  of  the 
Catholic  Cathedral  and  the  bell  tower  of  the 


Il8  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

fire  department  were  thickly  studded  with  col- 
ored lamps;  and  the  mosques  by  the  Nile,  on 
the  birthnight  of  the  Prophet,  are  not  more 
picturesque  than  were  these  twinkling  min- 
arets as  they  sprang  from  the  illuminated 
groves  beneath  them. 

The  day  following  the  King's  arrival  was  the 
Sabbath,  a  day  of  rest  according  to  law;  and 
we  consequently  rested  en  masse.  Monday, the 
arrangements  for  the  royal  reception  having 
been  completed,  the  fete  was  renewed.  The 
procession,  the  speech-making,  the  songs 
of  welcome,  the  torch-light  procession,  and 
the  illuminations,  were  all  repeated.  Perhaps 
nowhere  else  could  this  have  been  done  with- 
out a  murmur;  but  people  there  have  so  little 
to  amuse  or  interest  them  beyond  a  change 
in  the  weather  that  they  were  more  than 
equal  to  the  occasion.  After  this  the  royal 
receptions  were  in  order.  The  natives  visited 
the  King,  some  of  them  bearing  offerings  of 
gold  or  silver,  and  many  of  them  shaking 
hands  with  their  sovereign  in  the  most  demo- 
cratic fashion.  Nor  did  the  festivities  cease 
until  that  little  island  world  was  completely 
fagged  out;  and  then  we  all  went  to  bed 


HOW    THE    KING    CAME    HOME  119 

and  slept  like  tired  children   for  an  indefinite 
period. 

His  was  a  happy  and  prosperous  reign.  He 
was  a  lover  of  his  people.  He  respected  the 
Catholic  Church,  though  he  was  not  a  mem- 
ber of  it.  He  sent  a  royal  decoration  to 
Father  Damien  at  Molokai,  and  showed  his 
sympathy  and  appreciation  in  more  practical 
and  acceptable  ways.  Upon  his  death  his 
sister,  the  deposed  Queen,  took  the  throne. 
It  is  too  evident  that  her  advisers  are  respon- 
sible for  her  downfall.  As  for  Kalakaua,if  he 
was  not  popular  with  all,  I  can  safely  assert 
that  those  who  know  him  best  loved  him,  and 
not  without  good  reason. 


XXIII. 

IN  A  SUMMER  SEA. 

'T'HIS  is  the  memory  of  a  New  Year's  Eve 
at  sea;  it  feels  to  me  but  as  yesterday. 
I  seem  to  be  there  again,  and  I  must  write 
as  if  I  were.  Behold  me  in  the  dim  distance. 
We  who  live  in  the  trade-winds  always  speak 
of  inter-island  travel  as  going  "to  the  wind- 
ward" or  "to  the  leeward.''  I  went  "to  the 
windward"  to  spend  my  Christmas  holiday. 
It  was  the  faiiest  day  of  the  season  when  I 
sailed,  with  the  promise  of  a  superb  sunset, 
and  the  afterglow  which  lengthens  at  inter- 
vals the  brief  twilight  of  the  tropics.  I  went 
early  to  the  little  propeller  Likelike,  she  that 
makes  the  long  circuit  of  Hawaii  every  week; 
for  I  liked  the  gathering  tumult  the  last  mo- 
ments of  agitation,  the  despair  of  the  fellow 
who  is  too  late — usually  a  Kanaka  in  this 
climate, — 'and  all  the  while  I  sit  on  the  rail  in 
undisturbed  composure,  leisurely  taking  my 
120 


IN    A   SUMMER   SEA  121 

notes.  The  harbor  is  as  placid  as  a  duck- 
pond  and  blue  as  sapphire;  the  reef,  like  a 
long  snow  bank  ridged  with  shining  silver; 
yellow  sands  stretch  across  the  middle  distance, 
dotted  with  forlorn  cocoa  palms,  and  a  few 
low,  whitewashed  houses,  with  high,  white 
fences  about  them.  Thither  the  pest-stricken 
people  are  banished;  and  during  the  last  small- 
pox plague  hundreds  were  housed  there;  and 
scores,  chiefly  natives,  died,  and  were  buried 
in  those, shallow,  sea-washed  sands.  Beyond 
it  the  blue  sky,  and  sea  of  a  deeper  blue;  and 
close  at  hand  a  brace  of  slender  natives,  al- 
most naked,  wading  in  shallow  water  in  search 
of  food,  and  calling  at  intervals  in  melodious 
gutturals  to  a  lonely  fellow  in  his  canoe,  who 
paddles  swiftly  from  somewhere  across  the 
harbor  to  some  other  where;  but  his  sole  mis- 
sion seems  to  be  to  paddle,  as  if  it  were  a 
pleasure  and  a  consolation  to  do  so,  and  thus 
complete  the  picture. 

Shoreward,  beyond  the  tangle  of  spars  and 
rigging,  beyond  the  roofs  and  the  tree  tops  of 
the  town,  I  see  the  rich  green  valley  of 
Nuuanu,  flanked  by  lesser  vales  on  either  hand, 
like  transepts  to  a  wave;  and  at  the  far-away 


122  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

top  of  the  valley  such  a  curtain  of  mist  and 
rain  clouds  as  hides  from  mortal  eye  the  Holy 
of  Holies.  Fragments  of  rainbows  hang  like 
banners  from  the  high  walls  of  the  valley,  and 
over  all  breathe  the  sweet,  cool  winds.  Every 
body  and  everything  seems  to  be  waiting  for 
sunset;  yet  before  that  hour  we  have  waved 
adieu  to  the  laughter-loving  folk  that  line  the 
dock,  and  are  slowly  wending  our  way  out  of 
the  harbor  into  the  sea. 

We  follow  the  reef  for  some  distance.  It  is 
gray  and  hard,  like  granite.  The  sea  rises 
and  throws  itself  upon  that  everlasting  wall 
with  the  impetuosity  of  a  spoiled  child,  turn- 
ing white  with  foam  and  fury  and  bellowing 
lustily;  but  all  is  still  within,  like  a  tideless 
river.  The  flood  sleeps  beside  the  sand.  Our 
sturdy  little  ship  churns  diligently,  and  anon 
we  begin  to  roll  on  the  long,  long  swell  that 
is  never  at  rest. 

Like  a  panorama,  the  coast-line  seems  to 
pass  before  us — the  palms  that  cluster  about 
the  seaside  cottages  at  Waikiki;  the  feathery 
green  of  the  groves  that  cover  the  plains; 
other  valleys  lined  with  moist,  dark  woods, 
misty  and  touched  with  prismatic  lights;  and 


IN    A    SUMMER    SEA  123 

away  to  the  right  the  bald,  brown,  weather- 
beaten,  storm-stained  landmark — old  Dia- 
mond Head,  — which  always  enters  largely 
into  the  picturesque  element  that  makes  Hon- 
olulu and  its  environs  altogether  lovely. 

We  are  directly  under  the  steep  slopes  of 
Diamond  Head  when  the  sun  goes  down. 
Already  the  steward,  with  forethought  born 
of  bitter  experience,  has  covered  the  deck 
with  mattresses.  By  each  one  is  a  pillow,  a 
blanket,  and  a  cup — ah,  me!  that  cup!  A 
few  of  the  unseaworthy  passengers  betake 
themselves  to  bed;  for,  though  the  night  is 
calm,  the  wind  still,  and  the  sea  quiet — alas! 
the  channels  are  always  tumultuous.  We 
pass  into  the  first  one  with  the  twilight  and 
the  young  moon;  we  dine  heartily  to  the 
music  of  the  waves,  and  the  flapping  of  the 
canvas  shades  that  have  been  dropped  about 
the  quarter-deck  to  keep  out  the  night  air 
and  the  inevitable  spurts  of  rain  and  spray. 
By  the  placard  in  the  cabin  I  see  that  ginger- 
beer,  lemonade  and  soda  are  obtainable,  but 
nothing  more  enjoyable  in  the  shape  of  bever- 
age. I  therefore  repair  to  the  deck;  for  the 
cabin  is  close,  like  a  catacomb  thickly  lined 


124  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

with   bunks;  and    some   of    these    are   occu- 
pied. 

The  deck  is  shut  in.  It  looks  like  a  ward 
in  a  camp  hospital  the  night  after  a  battle. 
The  sea  buffets  our  little  ship;  we  dance  like 
a  nautilus.  The  decks  forward  are  laden  with 
lumber — Oregon  lumber  at  that,  reshipped 
from  island  to  island.  Spread  over  the  lum- 
ber is  a  tangled  mass  of  living  Kanakas.  They 
are  quiet,  for  the  most  part.  They  do  not 
mingle,  as  was  their  wont,  among  the  foreign- 
ers; but  are  reduced  to  second-class  quarters, 
unless  they  pay  extra  for  the  first-class.  They 
do  not  sing  and  chatter  as  they  used  to,  mak- 
ing sport  of  the  night  and  the  tumbling  sea 
and  the  discomfiture.  They  awaken,  strike 
a  light  in  the  wind  with  the  cleverness  of  a 
sailor  who  knows  the  art,  take  two  or  three 
whiffs  of  the  rankest  weed  imaginable  in  a 
pipe  which  was  foul  from  its  birth,  pass  it  from 
lip  to  lip  in  peace  and  silence;  and  when  it 
has  burned  out,  one  of  the  participants  opens 
his  mouth,  uttering  volumes  of  smoke  and 
wisdom.  The  others  respond  in  voices,  each 
of  which  issues  from  its  separate  cloud;  and 
the  place  is  murky  for  the  space  of  five 
minutes. 


IN   A    SUMMER    SEA  125 

Thus  we  pass  Molokai,  and  doze  a  little 
under  its  friendly  shelter;  but  are  roused 
again  when  we  tumble  into  the  second  channel 
— it  is  even  worse  than  the  first,  where  the 
merry  cups  ring  blithely,  and  the  sleepers 
awaken  with  deep-mouthed  complaints. 

Lahaina!  Slumbering  by  the  leeward 
waters,  under  the  shelter  of  sublime  hills, 
Lahaina  lay  in  wait  for  us.  We  had  crossed 
the  channel,  and  there  was  again  smooth  sail- 
ing. The  moon,  which  was  still  young,  had 
set;  but  there  were  lights  along  shore,  appear- 
ing and  disappearing  like  fire-flies;  there  was 
the  muffled  murmur  of  surf  rolling  in  upon 
resounding  sands.  The  night  was  cool — they 
nearly  always  are,  those  soft  and  melancholy 
nights  of  Lahaina,  fanned  by  the  mountain 
breeze. 

We  swung  at  anchor.  Voices  came  over 
the  sea  to  us,  and  the  sound  of  oars  falling 
into  the  rowlocks,  and  then  the  regular  plash, 
plash,  plash,  as  the  boats  drew  near, — shad- 
owy boats  with  lanterns  hidden  away  in  them 
so  that  one  saw  only  the  outline  of  everything 
in  silhouette — the  hollow  of  the  boat  and  the 
faces  of  the  boatmen  illuminated  by  a  warm 


12.6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

glow  that  is  enchanting.  Twinkling  lights 
still  sparkled  among  the  trees;  others  ap- 
peared in  the  distance,  moving  slowly  like 
creeping  things,  or  rather  floating  hither  and 
yon,  like  Will-o'-the-wisp;  and  yet  I  know 
that  if  all  Lahaina  were  to  waken  out  of  its 
unutterably  deep  sleep,  it  would  probably 
open  a  drowsy  eye  for  a  moment,  peer  from 
the  thatched  doorway  upon  the  sea,  where  the 
intruder  rides  at  anchor,  and  return  again  to 
its  dream  of  everlasting  peace.  Before  we 
had  ploughed  a  mile  farther  through  the  un- 
ruffled sea,  the  last  light  was  snuffed  out  in 
Lahaina,  and  there  was  nothing  left  to  tell 
the  tale  but  a  memory  and  a  regret. 

Maalaea,  an  invention  of  the  devil,  a  nec- 
essary evil,  and  perhaps  the  least  of  two  of 
them;  for  if  one  bound  for  Waihae  lands  on 
this  side  of  the  island,  he  may,  indeed,  enter 
the  paradise  of  Lahaina;  but  after  that  fol- 
low the  ascent  and  descent  of  a  mountain  trail 
more  bleak,  windy  and  treacherous  than  any 
I  wot  of  elsewhere  in  this  much  traveled 
globe.  So  it  is  Maalaea  that  I  come  to  in  the 
small  hours  of  the  morning.  We  anchor 
pretty  well  out  from  shore;  and  the  wind  that 


IN    A   SUMMER    SEA  I2/ 

always  blows  there,  charges  down  upon  us, 
freighted  with  sand  and  spray. 

What  a  toilsome  and  tantalizing  pull  to 
shore  in  a  boat  that  ships  more  than  its  quan- 
tity of  water!  We  are  all  weary,  and  few  of 
us  but  show  it.  A  small  wharf  juts  out  from 
the  shore.  A  lantern  swings  there,  and  we 
hear  the  chatter  of  the  half-awakened  natives, 
who  with  passionless  patience  are  awaiting 
our  arrival.  The  clatter  and  the  chatter- 
ing increase.  The  drivers  of  half  a  dozen 
expresses  and  a  like  number  of  sharp  bargains 
parcel  us  off  in  lots  to  suit;  and,  with  our 
luggage  under  the  seat,  we  dash  up  a  hillock 
into  the  wind  and  the  starlight,  and  begin  a 
ten-mile  drive  to  breakfast. 

The  sand  stings  our  faces;  the  wind,  which 
blows  steady  and  strong,  hisses  in  the  short 
grass.  It  is  so  dark,  though  the  stars  are  as 
large  and  brilliant  as  those  of  a  wintry  night, 
that  I  can  not  see  the  road  as  it  leads  over  the 
plain;  but  these  Kanakas  have  owls'  eyes,  and 
can  see  in  the  blackness  of  darkness.  They 
whip  up  the  sorriest  nags  that  ever  balked  in 
harness,  and  plunge  past  one  another,  while 
we  careen  on  the  ticklish  edge  of  inclines  that 
threaten  to  send  us  we  know  not  whither. 


128  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

The  dawn  comes;  we  have  passed  a  sugar- 
mill,  a  few  native  huts,  wherein  the  occu- 
pants are  stirring.  Some  of  them  watch  us 
from  the  open  doors;  a  fire,  kindling  feebly, 
betokens  the  preparation  of  the  morning  meal. 
We  are  on  the  isthmus  that  connects  the 
heights  of  East  and  West  Maui.  Haleakala, 
like  a  huge  dome,  covers  the  major  portion 
of  the  island.  Its  vastness  and  the  great 
sweep  of  its  unbroken  outline  delude  the  eye. 
One  would  never  dream  that  it  is  a  dozen 
miles  to  the  base  of  it,  and  that  the  summit 
of  it  is  10,000  feet  above  the  sea. 

Wailuku  is  tinged  with  sunshine  when  we 
clatter  through  its  one  long,  winding  street, 
out  of  which  lesser  ones  speedily  find  their  way 
into  canefields  or  grass  lands.  My  one  fellow- 
passengers,  a  Wahina,  a  native  girl,  came 
from  the  steamer  in  a  traveling  dress  of 
sombre  tint,  bearing  in  her  hands  a  calabash 
containing  the  remainder  of  her  wardrobe. 
She  has  since  completed  her  toilet,  and  is  now 
ready  to  descend  at  Waihee,  three  miles  be- 
yond Wailuku,  appareled  in  the  latest  Ha- 
waiian style. 

Waihee — a  cluster  of  comely  houses,  and  a 


IN    A    SUMMER    SEA  129 

white-walled  mill,  with  a  tall  chimney  like  an 
Irish  round  tower  in  a  fresh  coat  of  paint;  the 
breeze  relentlessly  blowing,  laden  with  sweet 
odor  from  the  boiling-house,  and  the  frag- 
rance of  drying  trash.  The  village  is  like 
country  cross-roads,  with  a  bright  red  two- 
storied  wooden  building  in  the  crotch.  It  is 
the  plantation  store,  and  the  most  picturesque 
structure  in  the  settlement.  The  local  atmos- 
phere of  Waihee  is  very  fresh  and  youth- 
ful; a  kind  of  Saturday-afternoon-out-of-door 
feeling  pervades  it.  Truly  one  sees  afar  off, 
by  a  distant  point  of  the  island,  another  settle- 
ment, and  he  knows  that  over  the  hill  lies 
Wailuku.  But  Waihee  sleeps,  for  it  is  always 
half  asleep  on  a  windward  slope;  and  beyond 
it  is  nothing  but  shorn  hillocks  and  the  tum- 
bling sea,  and  the  wide  stretch  of  blue,  blue 
sky,  across  which  the  trade-wind  clouds  fol- 
low one  another  in  interminable  procession. 
The  days  are  much  alike,  save  Sunday,  and 
it  is  unlike  anything  else.  No  one  knows  what 
to  do  with  himself;  the  silence  and  the  sense 
of  emptiness  are  overpowering;  there  is  noth- 
ing but  the  long-drawn  wind,  the  boom  of  the 
surf  on  a  shore  that  has  a  bleak  and  untrop- 


J30  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

ical  aspect,  and  showers  of  rain  that  come 
down  on  the  sea  like  shadows  long  before  the 
sudden  chill  in  the  air  announces  their  ap- 
proach in  Waihee.  Sunday  is  like  a  gap  in 
the  week,  like  a  day  chopped  out  of  the  cal- 
endar, leaving  an  utter  blank;  and  this  blank 
is  called  the  "Sabbath." 

From  the  upper  chambers  of  the  red  house 
on  the  corner  small  windows  open  upon  the 
four  quarters  of  the  globe.  You  have  roman- 
tic mountains,  richly  decked,  where  the  mo- 
mentary waterfalls  are  countless  after  every 
shower.  You  have  the  dark  line  of  the  road, 
winding  through  juicy,  green  canefields,— 
fields  that  are  sometimes  tasselled  with  plume- 
like  blossoms  as  delicate  in  texture  as  puffs  of 
smoke.  You  have  a  long  sweep  of  bare, 
brown  hills,  touched  here  and  there  with 
green;  a  league  of  frothing  sea,  a  glimpse  of 
bright  red  sand — real  desert  sand  it  is, — 
licked  up  and  whisked  away  by  the  same  winds 
that  blow  so  bravely;  and  over  and  beyond 
all  the  dome  of  Haleakala,  that  takes  in  turn 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and,  like  the 
chameleon,  changes  every  hour  in  the  day; 
and  then  you  have  the  sea  itself,  lonely  and 


IN    A    SUMMER    SEA  131 

lovely,  changeful  also,  with  its  moods  of  rain 
and  shine,  and  sometimes  with  a  passing  sail 
dotting  it  like  a  snowflake,  and  vanishing 
like  one  when  the  tiny  toy  has  tacked,  throw- 
ing its  sails  into  shadow. 

What  a  boon  when  one  has  little  else  to  do 
but  to  pore  over  his  books,  pass  the  time  of 
day  with  some  wayfarer,  and  speculate  on 
the  changes  in  the  weather!  Of  course  there 
are  visitations,  red-letter  days,  when  the 
guests  arrive  like  pilgrims,  and  the  feast  is 
merry  and  long;  yet  Waihee,  seeking  to  shel- 
ter itself  among  the  hillocks  by  the  shores,  a 
law  unto  itself;  and  sugar  in  the  cane  and 
sap  in  the  boiler,  potent  saccharine  odors  in 
the  air,  yoked  oxen  swinging  to  and  from  the 
fields,  the  laughter  of  light-hearted  laborers, 
the  crack  of  two  fathoms  of  whip-cord,  the 
chorus  at  night,  the  babble  of  gossip  in  the 
doorways,  the  arrival  and  distribution  of  the 
weekly  inter-island  and  monthly  foreign  mail, 
the  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  dry  spells,  are 
the  sum  total  of  its  uneventful  life. 

Let  us  return.  Backward  over  the  isthmus 
to  Maalaea  Bay,  hastening — if  it  can  be  called 
hastening  when  the  horses  balk  as  usual — to 


132  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

board  the  Likelike  on  her  downward  trip. 
She  was  due  at  four  p.  M.,  or  at  any  subse- 
quent hour  that  suited  her  convenience.  By 
half-past  three  we  had  come  to  a  halt  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  sea,  the  wind  blowing  great 
guns,  the  sand  flying,  small  pebbles  pattering 
upon  the  roof  of  a  small  house  that  affords 
the  only  shelter. 

A  queer  house  it  is.  A  little  room  is  ap- 
proached through  a  very  little,  enclosed  ver- 
anda, lumbered  with  saddles  and  the  stores 
of  the  house  in  barrels  and  sacks.  From 
the  little  room  open  lesser  ones — closets 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  modest  and 
retiring,  who  do  not  care  to  mingle  with 
the  whites,  rich  and  poor,  Kanakas,  coolies 
and  Portuguese.  The  house  is  barely  fur- 
nished. On  the  walls  hang  lithographs  of 
Garfield  and  several  life-insurance  companies, 
and  a  wordy  placard  proclaiming  the  inesti- 
mable qualities  of  a  stallion  of  noble  worth. 
Cups,  canisters  and  bottles  are  lodged  among 
the  whitewashed  beams.  One  sits  on  a  camp- 
stool,  a  bench  or  a  barrel,  and  contemplates 
a  table  which  is  laid  to  order  with  all  the  del- 
icacies of  Maalaea.  The  company  increases. 


IN    A    SUMMER    SEA  133 

A  fair  girl,  amply  shirred  and  wearing  water 
waves,  confined  under  a  thick  veil,  takes 
notes  upon  her  knee  in  one  of  the  closets. 
The  master  of  the  house  reclines  upon  his 
stomach  in  the  corner,  and  gives  his  orders 
with  an  arrogant  air,  born  of  long  lordship 
among  the  primitive  natives.  We  watched 
the  distant  healdand  and  yearned  for  rescue. 

The  hours  lag;  we  famish,  eat  in  turn  from 
the  table  laid  at  intervals;  a  thousand  rumors 
of  smoke,  visible  and  again  invisible,  raise  our 
hopes,  only  to  dash  them  a  little  later  on. 
From  half-past  three  o'clock  till  after  nine  P. 
M.  we  tarry  in  durance  vile;  the  wind  falls, 
the  pebbles  rest,  and  the  sand  no  longer 
ceases  to  pepper  us,  sifting  through  the 
warped  shingles  of  the  hospice.  At  last  relief 
arrives:  the  belated  boat  struggles  up  against 
a  head-wind  and  comes  to  anchor.  We  board 
the  steamer,  drifting  far  to  leeward,  and 
pulling  slowly  up  under  the  shelter  ot  her 
hull.  We  make  our  beds  in  peace,  and  lie 
there  while  she  creeps  slowly  down  to  Lahaina. 

We  are  five  hours  late — it  is  midnight, 
moonlight,  quiet  as  a  grave.  Weary  with 
long  watching,  Lahaina  is  actually  asleep  this 


134  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

time;  but  we  waken  her  with  a  shrill  whistle 
that  sets  the  wild  echoes  flying  all  over  that 
side  of  the  still  island.  The  lights  blossom 
among  the  trees;  the  boats  are  evolved  out 
of  the  delicious  uncertainty  that  pervades  the 
sweet  tropical  night;  all  the  palms  glimmer 
in  the  radiance  that  bathes  the  shore.  They 
are  motionless, but  a  silvery  haze  floats  among 
their  pendant  boughs.  We  trip  anchor  and 
head  for  the  vague  heights  of  Molokai. 

The  channel,  though  windless,  is  turgid:  it 
was  blowing  a  gale  there  in  the  afternoon; 
our  boat  bobs  like  a  cork  in  the  vicious  chop 
sea.  It  is  with  difficulty  that  we  cling  to  the 
deck;  at  intervals  we  are  thrown  on  our  beam 
ends,  and  then  there  is  an  upward  tendency 
in  all  things,  which  brings  a  lady  in  a  neigh- 
boring bed  to  grief.  I  hook  my  arm  about  a 
post  and  resign  myself  to  sleep.  The  air  has 
the  balm  of  April  and  the  fragrance  of  May. 
We  are  not  far  enough  from  shore  to  lose  its 
wholesome  aroma.  We  pitch  and  lurch 
furiously.  I  slide  up  and  down  the  post, 
descending  always  in  the  same  spot  with  neat- 
ness and  dispatch.  The  dawn  comes,  and 
the  sunrise  and  the  increasing  splendor  of  the 


IN    A    SUMMER  SEA  135 

day.  My  eyes  are  only  half  open  to  these 
gorgeous  facts.  I  hear  the  surf  seething,  and 
the  sound  of  bells  mingling  with  the  hiss  and 
the  roar.  We  are  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor. 
Honolulu  is  radiant,  resplendent  from  the 
very  latest  shower.  It  is  Sunday,  the  first 
day  of  the  week;  Sunday,  the  first  day  of  the 
year;  and  last  night,  with  its  mingled  emo- 
tions, its  famine  and  feast,  rest  and  unrest, 
beauty  and  desolation,  riot,  rapture  and  re- 
pose,— last  night  was  my  New  Year's  Eve 
at  sea. 


XXIV. 

A  VILLAGE  AND  A  HALF. 

\17HEN  a  village  is  as  small  as  a  village 
dares  to  be,  and  yet  within  three  miles 
of  it  there  is  a  settlement  still  smaller,  may  I 
not  refer  to  them  jointly  as  a  village  and 
a  half?  The  inhabitants  of  neither  would 
approve  of  it;  but  these  are  studies  of  life  on 
an  island  in  the  Hawaiian  Archipelago,  and 
for  truth's  sake  I  must  not  spare  the  feelings 
of  the  good  people  who  dwell  there,  and  want 
to  pride  themselves  on  that  fact. 

She  is  very  prim  and  very  pretty,  this  rustic 
hamlet,  when  seen  from  the  deck  of  the  Kil- 
auea  Hou,  off  Kahului,  fresh  from  her  shower- 
bath  of  recent  rain,  and  shining  in  the  morn- 
ing light.  She  is  very  pretty,  indeed;  but 
with  a  touch  of  New  England  primness  that 
scarcely  harmonizes  with  the  half-savage 
beauty  of  the  mountain  and  the  gorges  that 
have  brought  her  many  a  transient  guest. 

136 


A    VILLAGE    AND    A    HALF  137 

It  may  be  said  of  Wailuku — and  this  is 
between  you  and  me  and  the  post — that  the 
early  bird,  hastening  inland  from  Maalaea, 
the  God-forsaken,  at  some  unearthly  hour, 
finds  not  so  much  nor  so  little  as  a  worm  to 
break  his  fast  withal;  and  that,  though  he 
were  sworn,  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him 
tell  just  at  what  moment  the  cacti  cease  from 
troubling,  and  the  settlement  begins. 

There  is  a  street  that  starts  off  well  enough, 
with  a  hall  of  justice  on  the  one  hand,  and  a 
church  with  a  veritable  spiked  spire  on  the 
other;  yet  no  sooner  has  one  taken  heart  at 
discovering  a  lodging-house  and  an  art  gallery, 
than  one  plunges  headlong  into  rival  Chinese 
restaurants. 

Turn  to  your  left,  and  you  find  the  umbra- 
geous shade  of  gardens,  and  see  the  steep 
roofs  of  a  quaint  building  or  two  that  antedate 
the  age  of  modern  conveniences.  They  came 
around  the  Horn,  no  doubt — wee  windows, 
rose-embowered  "stoop,"  and  seven  or  more 
gables,  just  as  they  are  shipped  from  a  land 
where  witches  were  burned  in  other  days  for 
looking  and  acting  less  queer  than  these 
habitantinos  dare  to  look  and  act  to-day. 


138  HAWAIIAN   LIFE 

On  your  right  there  is  a  postoffice — and  a 
brand-new  one,  too;  and  then,  for  a  few 
paces,  there  are  shops  on  both  sides  of  the 
street — Main  Street  if  you  please;  but  after 
that  the  buildings  range  themselves  in  single 
file  upon  one  side  of  the  way,  and  stare 
blandly  at  the  leagues  of  waving  cane  that 
stretch  out  toward  the  sand-hills  which  form 
a  near  horizon.  There  are  modest  homesteads, 
with  a  small  English  chapel  in  their  midst,  a 
watch-mender  and  a  smithy  lower  down,  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  gentle  incline  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  air  that  tells  you  you  are  ap- 
proaching the  busy  mart.  The  next  instant 
you  turn  the  corner,  and  lo !  the  Forum  on 
market-day !  If  you  had  followed  Main  Street 
but  a  step  farther,  you  would  have  lost  sight 
of  the  town ;  for  it  would  have  been  all  at 
your  back. 

The  Forum  of  Wailuku — a  brown  street 
embedded  in  reddish-brown  dust,  flanked  by 
two  rows  of  small  buildings  with  an  original 
angle  to  every  roof;  shops,  billiard-rooms, 
coffee-houses,  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
while  a  brilliant  barber-pole  enlivens  the  vista; 
troops  of  men  and  beasts  flock  in  the  mid- 


A   VILLAGE    AND   A    HALF  139 

die  distance.  Flower,  fruit  and  fish  stalls  on 
one  side  of  the  street  are  offset  by  a  score  of 
itinerant  venders  of  similar  wares,  squatted 
upon  the  grassy  slope  over  the  way.  * 

The  lamented  Laureate  might  trace  his 
"murmur  of  innumerable  bees"  to  the  Forum 
of  Wailuku  on  market-day,  albeit  the  busy 
ones  are  only  busy  idling,  and  are  evidently 
wingless;  full  half  their  day  is  spent  in  inhal- 
ing odors  and  exchanging  gossip  for  gossip 
with  all  the  mouths  within  ear-shot. 

Would  you  have  a  handful  of  green  and 
juiceless  peaches  about  the  size  of  almonds,  or 
a  netful  of  guavas  cool  from  some  mountain 
vale,  or  mangoes  fat  and  overripe,  the  last  of 
the  lot?  They  are  yours,  and  half  the  Forum 
will  turn  to  bear  witness  that  the  same  are 
cheap  and  desirable. 

There  are  melons  yonder,  and  a  broken 
dozen  of  eggs;  here  are  fish,  a  fowl  or  two, 
together  with  a  single  claw  of  bananas,  and 
as  many  oranges  as  a  well  man  could  squeeze 
dry  before  breakfast, — all  held  at  a  tolerably 
high  figure;  but,  then,  there  are  so  many 
willing  hands  to  pass  them  out  for  inspection, 
and  such  a  wealth  of  smiles  thrown  in,  that 


I4O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

the  bargain  is  irresistible.  Waver  even  for  a 
moment,  and  you  may  go  your  way  with  the 
coin  of  the  kingdom.  It  is  all  the  same  to 
these  merry  merchants. 

If  the  love  of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil, 
then  the  root  has  not  entered  the  Hawaiian 
heart;  and  I,  for  one,  notwithstanding  sotne 
inconveniences,  am  glad  of  it. 

And  the  lions  of  Wailuku — where  are  they, 
I  wonder?  There  in  the  Catholic  mission,  in 
the  lower  angle  of  the  town,  with  its  pict- 
uresque chapel — no  one  knows  how  pictures- 
que till  he  has  looked  within  it  on  a  feast-day ; 
and  there  is  the  thriving  school  of  the 
Brothers  of  Mary,  and  the  hospital  of  the 
serene  Sisters;  and  lower  down  is  the  railway 
station  and  the  Kahului  turnpike.  Under 
the  hill  that  shelters  the  Mission  are  the  tombs 
of  the  departed;  and  yonder  is  that  living 
sepulchre,  the  sea.  Where,  indeed,  are  the 
lions  of  Wailuku  ? 

There  is  Main  Street,  that  extricates  itself 
from  a  cornfield  to  run  up  hill  and  take  a 
lover's  leap  into  the  mouth  of  the  famous  lao 
Valley;  and  High  Street,  that  begins  bravely, 
but  gets  discouraged  in  a  single  square;  and 


A   VILLAGE   AND   A   HALF  141 

Market  Street,  which  is  the  Forum,  but  even 
this  dips  suddenly  into  the  drawling  Luku — 
or  would  but  for  the  long  bridge  over  which 
it  is  a  crime  punishable  by  law  to  pass  faster 
than  a  walk. 

As  for  the  other  streets,  whose  names  I  have 
never  heard  breathed  above  a  whisper,  it  is 
like  cutting  across  lots  to  go  through  them;  in 
fact,  it  may  also  be  said  of  Wailuku  that  she 
is  minus  her  suburbs,  and  that  one  has  only 
to  climb  over  a  fence  to  get  into  space.  Per- 
haps it  is  providential  that  it  is  so. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  veranda  when 
I  passed  up  the  street  the  other  day — some 
of  the  representatives  of  the  town,  male  and 
female;  they  were  still  sitting  there  when  I 
returned  hours  afterward;  they  will  be  sitting 
there  when  next  I  awaken  the  echoes  of  Wai- 
luku with  the  sound  of  an  unfamiliar  footfall. 

It  is  a  gentle  life  they  lead.  The  even  tenor 
of  their  way  is  broken  only  at  respectable 
intervals — as,  for  instance,  when  the  Kilauea 
Hou  comes  to  port,  or  as,  in  the  course  of 
time,  the  primitive  train  rolls  into  the  primi- 
tive Wailuku  station.  Then  there  is  a  charge 
of  comparatively  empty  expresses  through  the 


142  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

drowsy  village  streets.  This  is  but  the  dis- 
traction of  the  moment;  anon  you  shall  see 
how  these  same  expresses,  that  seem  to  have 
been  suddenly  materialized  out  of  nothing, 
shall  resolve  again  into  nothingness,  to  be 
seen  no  more  for  days  together. 

That  Wailuku  has  at  some  former  period 
so  far  forgotten  her  reserve  as  to  plunge  into 
a  round  of  worldly  gayety  is  evident  to  the 
naked  eye;  for  the  faded  trophies  of  the  cir- 
cus still  cling  to  the  edges  of  the  town.  The 
astonished  wayfarer  may  mark  how  the  trick 
ponies  drive  one  another  in  chariots  of  fire 
through  billows  of  red  ochre;  while  athletes, 
like  angels  heedless  of  the  law  of  gravitation 
and  who  seem  native  of  another  planet  where 
masculine  physique  is  faultless,  disport  'twixt 
heaven  and  earth,  and  cover  themselves  with 
glory — and  spangles.  So  dwells  in  the  mem- 
ory of  Wailuku  the  one  indiscretion  of  the 
authorities,  kept  green  by  its  damning  evidence 
of  posters  that  survive  the  war  of  elements, 
and  the  scent  of  the  sawdust  that  hangs  round 
it  still. 

Must  I  add  that  Wailuku  has  lost  her  one 
celebrity  ?  He  was  master  of  a  large  school 


A    VILLAGE    AND    A    HALF  143 

at  Cahors,  in  the  south  of  France,  during  the 
Revolution  of  '48.  The  air  was  freighted  with 
rumors,  and  rebellion  threatened  very  hour. 
One  day  a  stalwart  pupil  of  about  eleven  years 
rushed  into  the  play-ground,  waving  the  red 
flag,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  the 
"Marseillaise."  The  whole  school  was  at 
once  in  arms.  It  seemed  that  the  revolution- 
ists were  about  to  carry  everything  by  storm; 
but  the  master,  seizing  the  young  Republican 
by  the  shoulders,  boxed  his  ears  soundly,  and 
sent  him  home  to  his  father.  The  insurrec- 
tion was  crushed  in  that  locality,  and  you 
doubtless  know  the  rest  of  the  history  by 
heart;-  but  perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  the 
master  who  restored  order  in  that  juvenile 
rebellion  was  Father  Leanore,  formerly  of 
Wailuku,  and  now  at  the  Cathedral  in  Hono- 
lulu. The  lad  was  Leon  Gambetta,  late  Presi- 
dent of  the  French  Republic. 

Down  the  dusty  road  that  winds  between 
the  sand-hills;  over  the  low  bridge  that  re- 
sounds like  a  drum  as  the  hoofs  of  the  flying 
horses  crash  across  it;  in  the  edge  of  the  far- 
spreading  cornfields,  between  the  mountains 
and  the  sea,  is  the  fragmentary  settlement  I 
call  half  a  village. 


144  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Let  not  the  dwellers  in  Squidwater  revile 
me  if  I  refer  to  them  with  seeming  levity.  In 
the  wide  world  there  is  not  one  who  loves 
them  more  truly  than  I.  You  should  have 
seen  me  last  twilight,  Oh  my  friends!  as  I 
paused  alone  upon  the  lights  above  Squid- 
water,  and  marked  how  its  stars  shone  like 
glow-worms  among  the  taro  patches  far  below 
one,  while  the  fragmentary  village  burned  its 
hundred  tapers  at  my  feet.  There  was  no 
sound,  save  the  voice  of  many  waters, — waters 
small  and  great,  that  streamed  and  cascaded 
and  rivuleted  out  of  the  green  gorges  above 
me,  fertilizing  this  secluded  vale,  and  giving 
it  a  character  quite  single  to  it. 

No  one  would  suspect  from  a  glance  at  the 
cross-roads,  the  mill,  the  Maison  Rouge — from 
which  I  write  you, — at  the  smithy,  or  even 
the  manor-house,  that  Squidwater  could  boast 
more  than  a  good  haul  of  squid;  but  I  have 
seen,  from  the  lights  above  us,  how  the  grass- 
house  has  not  yet  gone  to  seed  in  the  suburbs, 
and  that  the  four  winds  of  heaven  rend  the 
banana  leaves  which  screen  many  an  exclu- 
sive home  circle  hereabout,  and  shake  down 
the  plump  papaia  upon  the  domestic  hearth, 


A    VILLAGE    AND    A    HALF  145 

whose  fires  light  the  dim  edges  of  the  wilder- 
ness beyond  us. 

We  are  not  always  so  silent  at  Squidwater. 
There  are  times  when  the  mill  puffs  and 
blows  from  dawn  till  dark  and  after;  when 
the  groaning  carts  come  heavy-laden  from  the 
fields;  when  the  heart  of  the  bullock-driver 
is  lifted  up,  and  a  racket  is  heard  in  the  land; 
when,  indeed,  there  is  but  one  sound  that  is 
unknown  of  Squidwater — to  wit,  the  voice  of 
the  sluggard. 

O  busy  island- world !  How  glad  I  am  that 
the  tail  end  of  the  season  has  come,  that  the 
telephone  is  down,  and  that  we  know  nothing 
of  the  doings  of  states,  kingdoms,  principalities 
and  powers,  beyond  our  private  horizon — a 
rim  of  tawny  hills,  walling  us  in  like  a  shallow 
bowl! 

For  the  time  being  Squidwater  is  an  Arca- 
dia, of  which  Virgil  might  have  sung,  and 
where  Horace  might  have  found  repose,  had 
it  only  been  within  their  reach;  Multitudin- 
ous carts  are  stranded  in  a  hollow  square,  each 
tipped  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees;  the 
trash-grounds  so  lately  of  a  flaxen  hue  have 
grown  a  dusty  brown.  We  are  a  community 


146  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  husbandmen,  going  afield  at  daybreak, 
tilling  the  soil,  sowing  seed,  nursing  the  ra- 
toons,  pruning  the  vigorous  young  cane,  and 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  these  golden- 
green  acres  shall  nod  again  with  plume- 
like  puffs  of  smoke.  When  that  day  comes, 
it  will  be  time  to  think  once  more  of  the 
mechanical  industries  or  of  scoring  up  the 
profits  of  the  year. 

The  other  day,  when  I  had  been  lounging 
for  hours  in  a  wee  balcony,  about  the  size  of 
an  opera  box — it  is  the  specialty  of  theMason 
Rouge,  and  my  delight, — looking  off  upon 
the  mountains  and  the  sea,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  had  not  yet  paid  my  respects  to  the 
vacuum  pan  or  the  jolly  boy  who  keeps  his 
finger  upon  the  feverish  pulse  of  that  one- 
eyed  monster.  So  down  I  went  to  the  mill, 
and  climbed  into  the  gallery,  where  the  at- 
mosphere is  seven  times  heated,  and  the  sur- 
roundings positively  infernal. 

While  hugging  the  vacuum,  and  feeling 
quite  cool  by  comparison,  I  thought  of  the 
ingenuity  of  Dante,  who  pictures  a  cold  cor- 
ner in  hades,  where  the  sinful  freeze  forever 
in  seas  of  imperishable  ice;  and  I  imagined 


A    VILLAGE    AND    A    HALF  147 

one  of  these  lost  ones,  whose  words  drop  like 
hail  upon  the  glacier  under  his  chin,  implor- 
ing one  balmy  gust  from  the  heart  of  a  boil- 
ing-house— like  ours,  for  instance.  At  that 
moment  there  arose  a  din  from  the  bullock- 
drivers;  it  was  caught  up  on  the  trash-grounds 
and  echoed  throughout  the  mill;  and  upon 
the  top  of  it  all  some  one  set  the  steam-whis- 
tle ablowing,  and  it  blew  a  long,  loud  blast 
that  filled  all  the  valleys  on  our  side  of  Maui 
to  overflowing.  I  thought  it  would  never 
cease;  and  it  didn't  until  a  sharp  order  from 
headquarters  put  a  stop  to  it.  Then  I  learned 
that  the  very  last  load  of  cane  had  come  in 
from  the  fields,  and  its  arrival  was  the  occa- 
sion of  the  tumultuous  rejoicing. 

The  boyish  abandon  of  the  moment  was 
contagious;  we  all  laughed  like  children  and 
skipped  for  joy,  without  exactly  knowing 
why.  The  work  is  not  over  by  any  means. 
In  the  sweat  of  our  brows  we  still  eat  bread; 
the  cattle  tread  the  dark  furrows  on  the  hill- 
side; the  hoe  swings  merrily  in  the  sunshine, 
and  at  nights  we  see  the  furious  forked  tongues 
of  flame  licking  the  dust  in  the  stubble. 

It  is  true  I  have  not  much  to    do    with    all 


148  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

this,  save  to  observe  it  and  retain  an  impres- 
sion. I,  too,  am  simmering  down  like  the 
coolers  in  the  mill  yonder,  and  sugaring  as  it 
were,  and  perhaps  getting  three  grades  of 
experience.  For  the  flow  of  meditation  is 
uninterrupted  at  Squidwater;  and,  then,  there 
are  books  galore;  and  last,  but  not  least, 
there  is  the  lust  of  the  eye  satiated  with  the 
beauty  of  the  earth  and  with  the  splendor  of 
the  sea. 

There  are  times  when  the  tumultuous  clouds 
heaped  upon  Haleakala  make  for  themselves 
a  twilight  at  mid-day;  times  when  the  rain- 
bows are  shattered  against  it,  and  there  are 
splashes  of  sunlight  upon  its  awful  slopes. 
And  there  are  times  when  it  seems  to  rise  in 
majesty  and  tower  into  the  seventh  heaven  of 
the  afterglow. 

Across  the  sea  sweep  the  curtains  of  the 
rain,  and  the  waves  cry  out  to  us  and  cushion 
the  beach  with  foam.  This  is  for  the  eye 
only,  to  delight  and  satisfy  it;  and  it  is  well 
for  us  that  it  is.  So  far  we  are  a  quiet  people 
nt  Squidwater;  and  within  '  the  precincts  of 
the  Maison  Rouge  we  are  perpetually  at  peace. 
The  albuminous,  long-fingered  squid  are  not 


A   VILLAGE   AND    A    HALF  149 

more  so,  nor  the  lake  sleeping  among  the 
sand  and  rushes  at  the  top  of  the  village 
street. 

With  the  evening  comes  complete  repose; 
no  sound  now  save  the  unceasing  sibilation  of 
the  mountain  streams.  The  coolies  emerge 
from  their  quarters  and  bathe  by  the  brook- 
side  in  a  state  of  absolute  Chinese — and  then 
disappear  in  the  gloaming. 

Nothing  is  visible  thereafter  save  that  Jack- 
o'-lantern,  the  night  watchman,  who,  like  a 
reversed  Diogenes, seeks  vainly  for  the  improb- 
able— a  dishonest  man  At  last,  when  the 
late  moon  blooms  in  a  vague  cloud,  like  a 
passion-flower,  I  fold  my  hands  in  silence, 
and  deep  sleep  descends  upon  the  Maison 
Rouge  at  Squidwater. 


XXV. 

IN  AND  OUT  OF  EDEN. 

Y\7  ERE  it  possible  to  observe  the  three  uni- 
ties, 1  should  send  you  these  lines 
scratched  with  a  thorn  upon  a  folio  of  plan- 
tain leaves.  As  it  is,  I  have  but  to  jab  my 
pen  into  the  fleshy  stalk  of  this  highly  decor- 
ative vegetable,  inscribe  a  couplet  on  the  hem 
of  my  handkerchief,  dip  it  into  the  fountain 
at  my  feet,  and  the  lines  at  once  become  indeli- 
ble, like  the  memory  of  this  peerless  vale. 

You  see  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  write 
of  lao  without  gushing;  therefore,  dearly  be- 
loved, let  us  gush! 

lao  is  a  profound  mystery.  One  must  get 
into  the  heart  of  her  and  lodge  there  for  a 
time  before  she  begins  to  reveal  her  manifold 
beauties.  She  has  a  thousand  moods,  and 
these  might  easily  exhaust  a  whole  volume 
of  new  adjectives,  were  such  a  treasure  to  be 
discovered  now.  She  is  as  coy  as  a  virgin,  as 

150 


IN    AND    OUT    OF    EDEN  !$! 

inconsistent  as  a  coquette;  she  smiles  and 
weeps  in  the  same  breath,  and  threatens  you 
with  the  bolts  of  Jove,  while  she  lures  you 
with  a  breath  as  fragrant  as  the  first  lisp  of 
love. 

Alas !  how  many  silken  leaves  of  the  banana 
might  one  cover  with  such  rhapsodies  as 
these,  and,  as  yet,  have  revealed  nothing  of 
the  charms  of  lao! 

A  vale  of  mystery  is  she,  in  no  way  to  be 
compared  with  any  other  in  the  Kingdom,  yet 
worthy  to  be  named  with  the  most  famous 
on  the  earth.  Waipio  and  Waimanu  dazzle 
as  you  pass  them  upon  the  sea.  Halawa, 
on  Molokai,  and  the  girdle  of  valleys  that 
beautify  remote  Hana,  at  the  foot  of  Halea- 
kala,  are  all  charming.  Like  voiceless  sirens, 
they  waylay  the  mariner;  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  are  as  dangerous  as  were  the  torment- 
ors of  Ulysses.  But  it  remains  for  lao  to 
veil  herself  in  vapors,  put  on  her  crown  of 
cloud,  withdraw  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
mountains,  and  there  await  her  votaries. 

From  the  upper  edge  of  Wailuku  one  looks 
into  the  mouth  of  this  valley,  a  wild  gorge 
that  soon  retires  into  the  mists  and  vapors. 


152  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

The  very  clouds  seem  to  reflect  the  prevailing 
tints — green  flecked  with  gold,  and  gold  tem- 
pered with  green,  — a  soft,  changeful  light  born 
of  sunshine  and  verdure. 

There  is  a  little  settlement  in  the  very 
throat  of  the  valley — a  few  primitive  cots  with 
£a/0-patches  on  one  side  of  them,  and  a  screen 
of  vigorous  banana  trees  on  the  other. 
Cattle  feed  in  knee-deep  grass;  goats  perch 
upon  the  low  stone-walls,  and  sniff  at  the  ten- 
der sprouts  just  out  of  reach.  Natives  lie  in 
the  shade  and  wait  for  the  harvest,  which  is 
already  ripening.  Down  through  the  midst 
of  this  peaceful  picture  bursts  a  foaming  tor- 
rent; and,  following  up  the  margin  of  the 
flood,  crossing  and  recrossing  it  again  and  yet 
again,  we  enter  into  the  heart  of  lao. 

Now,  blessed  be  the  damp  and  sedgy  trail, 
and  the  broad,  deep  fords,  with  rolling  stones 
in  the  bed  of  them!  Blessed  be  the  very 
gate  that  stops  our  way  just  as  our  blood  be- 
gins to  leap  and  our  eyes  to  glow  with  glimpses 
of  that  inner  world, — a  world  untenanted, 
save  by  the  noiseless  winged  creatures  that 
float  over  it  like  airy  sentinels!  And  blessed 
be  the  silent  man  who  came  out  of  the  wood 


IN    AND    OUT    OF    EDEN  153 

and  let  us  into  the  depths  thereof  with  a  key ! 
He  must  have  been  dumb,  and  his  key  like- 
wise; for  it  turned  noiselessly  in  the  lock. 
Even  the  chain  that  fell  upon  the  gate,  as  it 
swung  open,  clanked  softly,  and  the  keeper 
turned  to  follow  us  with  his  quiet  eye,  It  was 
thus  we  entered  the  sanctuary  of  lao;  and, 
speechless,  passed  under  the  boughs  in  single 
file,  and  were  locked  in  with  the  mysteries  not 
yet  revealed. 

Was  the  valley  of  Rasselas  like  this,  I  won- 
der? Only  at  one  point  does  the  eye  run 
down  the  narrowing  seaward  gorge,  to  spy 
out  the  world,  and  find  it  pleasing.  For  the 
most  part  if  one  can  for  the  moment  turn 
away  from  the  compelling  majesty  of  lao  to 
look  back  upon  the  plains  and  the  sand  and 
the  sea  yonder,  they  seem  mean  by  compari- 
son; but  with  a  single  leap  here  is  paradise 
regained.  Height,  depth,  breadth,  eternal 
summer,  living  light,  shadows  profound,  and 
an  atmosphere  that  breathes  terrestrial  joy, 
— all,  all  are  here. 

Yonder  leap  the  streams  from  heaven  to 
earth,  some  like  momentary,  foamy  comets 
shot  in  the  wake  of  a  passing  shower;  others 


154  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

slipping  like  pearls  through  the  green  meshes 
of  the  fern;  some  again  throbbing  like  veins 
charged  with  quick-silver;  "and  some  like  a 
downward  smoke,  slow-dropping  veils  of 
thinnest  lawn";  but  all  silent  and  "far  away. 

Only  the  gurgle  of  the  stream  in  the  bed  of 
the  valley  is  echoed  here,  or  the  sudden  flut- 
ter of  wings  in  the  boughs  above  us;  or,  per- 
haps, the  deep  sigh  of  the  wind  in  some  re- 
mote depth,  as  if  our  approach  had  disturbed 
the  slumber  that  possesses  lao. 

There  are  pyramids  of  fern  trees,  that  tower 
from  the  earth  to  the  clouds.  There  are  per- 
pendicular walls,  across  the  face  of  which  the 
birds  fly  without  pausing,  and  where  I  doubt 
if  they  can  find  rest  for  their  muffled  feet. 
There  are  sharp  shafts  of  rocks  that  cleave 
the  clouds  like  javelins;  and,  between  them, 
abysmal  shadows  in  which  the  snow-white 
birds  fade  like  falling  stars. 

There  is  a  table-land  in  the  midst  of  this 
incomparable  amphitheatre,  from  which  the 
whole  valley  is  seen  at  its  best.  Here  take 
your  last  look.  Every  hour  is  a  new  revela- 
tion. The  bosom  of  the  vale  is  oppressed 
with  the  shades  of  night,  but  the  peaks  that 


IN    AND    OUT    OF    EDEN  155 

surround  her  are  as  brilliant  as  if  cloaked  with 
the  golden-tinted,  feather  robes  of  royalty. 
There  is  a  storm  raging  yonder,  but  we  are 
lapped  in  calm.  Currents  of  air  drive  scur- 
rying clouds  through  dim,  aerial  passes.  They 
troop  like  the  sorrowful  brotherhood  of  the 
Misericordia — ghosts,  everyone  of  them, come 
to  bury  the  ghosts  that  haunt  this  valley,  and 
will  not  be  laid  for  evermore. 

Through  the  gorge  yonder  I  see  a  panel 
picture, — a  picture  slender  and  tall;  a  strip 
of  rich  green  canefield ;  a  strip  of  yellow  beach ; 
the  exquisite  silver  sickle  of  the  sea;  one 
slope  of  the  distant  headland,  and  then  bright 
blue  sky  to  the  tfery  zenith.  That  is  quite 
another  world  than  this,  Oh  dreamer! — one 
that  is  laid  wide  open  to  the  horizon.  Through 
it  the  winds  rove.  It  is  burning  and  bleach- 
ing in  the  sun.  But  among  these  hanging 
gardens  the  league-long  creepers  pour  cata- 
racts of  blossoms  from  the  cliff.  The  fruits 
ripen  and  fall  in  their  season,  and  the  dews 
nightly  feed  these  unfailing  fountains  when 
that  land  yonder  lies  parched  and  dead. 

Of  all  this  inner  valley  not  a  rood  but  is 
Nature's  own.  lao  has  been  and  shall  always 


156  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

be,  the  temple  and  the  throne  of  beauty. 
Grove  upon  grove  crowns  her  terraces;  gar- 
den upon  garden  perfumes  her  cloudy  hights. 
Babylon  indeed  is  fallen,  and  its  grandeur  is 
laid  waste;  but  lao  the  solitary,  whom  art 
may  not  approach  nor  utility  desecrate, — lao, 
clothed  in  perennial  splendor,  savage,  som- 
ber, serene,  shall  endure  and  reign  forever. 

Let  the  frivolous,  who  know  Hawaii,  and 
who  believe  themselves  especially  acquainted 
with  the  island  of  Maui, — let  them  laugh  ii 
they  will  when  I  take  them  out  of  the  Eden 
of  lao  to  Kalepolepo  by  the  shore.  It  is  out 
of  Eden,  I  am  free  to  confess;  but  let  those 
that  sit  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful  keep  their 
seats,  for  there  are  worse  places  in  the  Ha- 
waiian world  than  Kalepolepo,  and  they  prob- 
ably occupy  one  of  them. 

Not  that  I  consider  Kalepolepo  the  queen 
of  Hawaiian  watering-places;  still  if  Midas 
were  to  expend  as  much  money  upon  it  as 
has  been  lavished  upon  certain  unpromising 
summer  resorts  I  wot  of,  Kalepolepo  might 
easily  take  the  palm — whether  royal,  cocoa, 
wine,  cabbage,  screw,  fan  or  native  palm. 

Kalepolepo  is  not  puffed  up,  is  not  boastful 


IN    AND    OUT    OF    EDEN  157 

of  her  architecture,  her  water  works,  or  her 
public  or  private  gardens.  She  sits  quietly 
upon  the  hem  of  the  desert,  the  sand  drifting 
in  upon  her  inch  by  inch;  the  sea  playfully 
reaching  up  to  her,  as  if  to  drag  her  down  into 
the  depths.  Patience  on  a  monument  smiles 
not  more  blandly  than  she — and  she  has  two 
griefs  to  smile  at:  first,  there  is  her  loss  of 
prestige;  second,  there  is  the  aggravating  self- 
importance — the  momentary  and  remittent, 
but  nevertheless  undeniable,  importance — 
of  her  rival,  Maalaea! 

Forlorn  Kalepolepo,  I  salute  thee!  In 
memory  of  other  and  happier  days,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  solemn  night  I  passed  within 
your  borders,  I  drop  the  silent  tear. 

We  had  left  Lahaina  in  the  afternoon,  my 
guide  and  I.  We  hoped  to  reach  Ulupalakua 
by  sunset;  but,  coming  over  the  hill  of  diffi- 
culty, just  above  Maalaea,  the  wind  loosened 
the  shoes  of  o.ur  horses,  so  that  by  the  time 
we  had  reached  Kalepolepo  the  beasts  were 
barefooted.  Here  the  guide  promptly  un- 
earthed a  parent,  and  tearfully  asked  leave  to 
hang  until  morning  upon  the  maternal  bosom. 
As  we  were  about  making  the  tour  of  the 


158  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

island,  it  seemed  cruel  to  refuse  him  this 
request.  I  listened  to  the  voice  of  nature.  I 
slept  at  Kalepolepo — but  this  was  years  ago. 
Later  it  was  revealed  to  me  that  my  guide 
— he  was  but  a  lad  then,  had  a  mother  at  con- 
venient distances  throughout  the  sea-board  of 
Maui;  that  he  was  the  pet  of  a  much  be- 
mothered  family;  that  his  quasi-progenitors  all 
wailed  in  the  same  key;  that  the  voice  of 
nature,  so  to  speak,  was  seldom  if  ever 
hushed;  for  no  sooner  had  the  last  farewell 
died  away  in  the  distance  than  a  fresh  wail 
was  lifted  up  among  the  hills  ahead  of  us. 
Our  feet  were  literally  bathed  in  tears  before 
we  could  get  out  of  the  saddle ;  in  fact,  we  were 
pretty  damp  most  of  the  time.  I  never  before 
had  so  much  emotion  for  so  little  money; 
and  as  for  the  guide,  he  was  probably  the 
least  boy  for  the  amount  of  mother  that  the 
world  ever  saw.  And  it  all  began  at  Kalep- 
olepo. The  oldest  inhabitant  dwelt  in  an 
antiquated  rookery;  and,  naturally  enough, 
his  name  was  Noe.  Noe  was  still  in  posses- 
sion; but  the  family  and  the  animals  had 
gone  out  of  the  ark,  as  it  were, — at  least, 
of  the  latter  had  gone. 


IN    AND    OUT   OF    EDEN  159 

It  was  a  dim  ark,  with  lower  halls  and 
upper  chambers  and  a  hurricane  deck,  for 
aught  I  know.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  quietly 
stepped  ashore  in  a  spring-tide,  and  was 
rather  glad  to  get  in  out  of  the  wet.  I 
remember  the  huge  haircloth  sofa,  such  as 
they  used  in  Noe's  day;  and  the  mountain 
chain  of  spiral  springs  set  all  awry  by  some 
internal  convulsion  in  the  bed  of  that  sofa. 
I  settled  down  among  the  numerous  valleys 
before  morning,  and  slept  like  Giant  Despair. 
I  remember  other  pieces  of  dark,  quaint  fur- 
niture of  pre-historic  mould;  and,  while  wait- 
ing for  the  approach  of  sleep,  I  thought  of 
the  days  when  the  ark  was  the  resort  of 
ancient  mariners,  very  like  Captain  Marryat's 
"King's  Own,"  who  were  doing  business  on 
great  waters — a  very  brisk  business,  too, — and 
came  to  Kalepolepo  to  bargain  for  hides  and 
potatoes  and  watermelons. 

Those  were  piping  times;  but  oh,  what 
changes  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  that  past! 

Dana  had  not  yet  written  "Two  Years 
before  the  Mast;"  Herman  Melville  was  vaga- 
bonding from  Cancer  to  Capricorn,  gathering 
material  for  those  most  delightful  of  all  books 


160  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  adventure,  "Omoo,"  "Typee,"  "Moby 
Dick,"  and  "White  Jacket."  Monterey  was 
still  thoroughly  Mexican;  California  gold  not 
even  dreamed  of;  but  Kalepolepo  had  store- 
houses bursting  with  bushels  of  potatoes, 
almost  as  good  as  so  many  nuggets  of  gold- 
She  supplied  the  whaling  fleet  that  summered 
in  the  Arctic,  and  long  after  gold  had  glorified 
the  Pacific  Coast  she  was  shipping  luxuries  to 
the  hungry  miners. 

Ah  me!  Kalepolepo  had  her  attractions 
then.  What  if  her  solitary  boulevard  could 
boast  no  shade?  The  solid  sands  were  paced 
by  the  light-footed  nymphs,  who  came  hither 
to  dazzle  in  silks  and  satins  and  fine  feathers; 
and  the  flower  of  the  forecastle — no  doubt 
some  true  blue-bloods  among  them — scat- 
tered dollars  like  dross. 

There  was  good  eating  and  good  drinking 
then.  Many  a  night  the  walls  of  the  ark  must 
have  rung  with  revelry;  and,  if  the  night  were 
calm  without,  there  was  music  and  laughter 
upon  the  silver  sands,  and  the  cocoa  palms 
yonder  nodded  in  the  moonlight,  as  much  as 
to  say — well,  never  mind  what  they  said; 
for  it  is  all  done  with  now! 


IN   AND   OUT   OF   EDEN  l6l 

The  ark  is  still  here,  creaking  a  little  in  the 
winds  that  blow  bravely  at  Kalepolepo.  The 
old  sheds  are  here  that  were  filled  and 
emptied  so  frequently;  some  of  the  original 
huts  are  still  standing,  and  a  few  new  ones 
have  sprung  up — prim  wooden  boxes,  such  as 
expel  the  airs  of  heaven  and  condense  the 
blasts  of  the  pit. 

Just  over  the  ridge  there  are  juicy,  large 
watermelons  ripening  in  the  sand;  and  at 
times — alas  for  the  rarity! — somebody  rides 
through  the  place,  in  the  glare  of  the  sun, 
looking  in  vain  for  the  inviting  vine  and  the 
fig-tree  of  refreshment.  But,  for  all  this, 
Kalepolepo  has  her  memories;  and  these  are 
what  Maalaea  has  not — at  least,  none  that 
she  has  any  reason  to  be  proud  of. 

It  was  at  Kalepolepo  that  Kamehameha 
the  Conqueror  beached  his  canoes.  If  the 
oldest  inhabitant  of  Maalaea  claims  this  dis- 
tinction for  his  port,  believe  him  not.  I  have 
the  facts  from  an  eye-witness.  The  sea  was 
dark  with  victorious  canoes;  Kamehameha 
landed  at  Kalepolepo,  and  a  kapu  was  put 
upon  the  nearest  stream.  It  became  sacred 
to  royalty,  as  was  the  custom;  and  is  know 


1 62  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

as  Waikapu  to  this   hour — that    is,  forbidden 
water. 

Presently  the  monarch  began  his  march; 
and  at  the  second  stream  a  great  battle  raged", 
so  those  waters  were  called  Luku.  Luku — "to 
slaughter,  to  slay  as  in  war,  the  destruction 
of  many  at  once."  Wailuku!  only  to  think 
of  her  unimaginable  tranquillity  in  this  year 
of  grace. 

The  enemy  was  defeated  and  put  to  flight, 
and  a  third  stream  was  called  Ehu.  Ehu — 
"to  scare  away,  as  hogs  or  hens,"  or  as  faint- 
hearted and  sore-footed  foes.  Waiehu  is 
a  meagre  rivulet,  that  seems  to  have  wasted 
away  under  the  influence  of  this  withering 
epithet. 

There  over  the  hill  and  down  into  the  dale 
of  Waihee  rushed  the  panic-stricken  hosts. 
As  for  the  word  Hee,  it  may  mean,  probably 
does  mean  in  this  case,  utter  rout,  or  to  be 
dispersed  in  battle;  and  well  they  must  have 
been  who  fled  before  Kamehameha,  inasmuch 
as  Waihee  is  the  jumping-off  place;  after  it 
— the  deluge! 

That  is  the  legend  of  the  four  waters,  given 
me  by  one  Paahao,  of  Waihee,  who  knew 


IN    AND    OUT   OF   EDEN  163 

Kamehameha;  whose  hand  I  shook,  which 
had  been  shaken  by  Kamehameha  the  great; 
who  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a  pipe,  the  gift 
of  the  conqueror  after  he  had  buried  the 
hatchet  and  was  willing  to  smoke  in  peace. 

The  other  day  I  called  on  old  Paahao.  We 
were  sitting  in  an  arbor  of  castor-beans  when 
the  venerable  savage  asked  me  for  a  smoke. 
Alas  for  the  depravity  of  this  people.  I  took 
the  cigarette  from  between  my  lips,  and 
inserted  it  in  the  cavity  which  he  still  uses  as 
a  mouth.  The  aperture  closed  about  the 
pernicious  weed,  like  a  sack  gathered  up  with 
a  cord.  Then  he  drew  mightily  again  and 
again  and  again.  His  cheeks  fell  in.  I  began 
to  fear  that  his  suction,  though  audible,  was 
defective,  and  that  he  was  not  able  to  fetch 
even  a  thread  of  smoke  from  the  delicate  wisp 
of  paper  that  was  gradually  sinking  into  his 
face.  But  with  wonderful  energy  he  still 
worked  at  it ;  and  at  last,  taking  the  live  coal 
from  his  lips,  he  quenched  it  between  his 
thumb  and  finger  as  deliberately  as  if  it  had 
been  a  pellet  of  chalk.  Then,  and  not  till 
then,  did  he  begin  to  smoke;  but  having  once 
begun,  it  was  indeed  he  who  was  smoking. 


164  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Dense  volumes  of  vapor  welled  up  out  of  the 
depths  of  him.  He  was  oozing  at  every  pore. 
Thick  clouds  obscured  him.  Like  a  frightful 
example  of  spontaneous  combustion,  he  faded 
away  before  my  very  eyes.  Then  out  of  this 
pillar  of  cloud  came  a  faint  voice.  Was  it  a 
voice  of  warning  or  exhortation  ?  No,  it  was 
not  the  advice  so  freely  offered  by  those  who 
can  not  smoke  to  those  who  can.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  a  heartfelt  Aloha,  wafted  to 
me  from  another  country  and  another  age,  as 
it  were;  for  Paahao  smoked  his  first  pipeful 
with  his  old  friend  Captain  Cook,  and  he  was 
at  that  moment  flourishing,  like  the  bay-tree, 
in  the  one  hundred  and  twelfth  year  of  his  age. 
As  I  grasped  his  hand  at  parting,  it  was 
with  inexpressible  anguish  that  I  realized 
how,  in  my  possible  threescore  years  and  ten, 
though  I  were  to  smoke  like  a  furnace  night 
and  day,  I  can  never  hope  to  rival  this  human 
volcano.  So  I  turned  sadly  from  him,  and 
left  him  sitting  in  his  bean  arbor,  belching  at 
intervals  a  pale-blue  vapory  ring  or  two,  and 
smiling  to  himself,  down  by  the  rice-paddy, 
overlooking  the  haunt  of  the  dreamy  squid. 


XXVI. 

THE  LAND  OF  CANE. 

IS  AHULUI  has  much  to  be  proud  of,  and  I 
dare  say  she  is  as  proud  as  she   has    any 
reason  to  be.      Most  of  us  are,  and  this  would 
be  a  sorry  community  if  it  were  not  so. 

I  don't  know  if  any  local  poet  has  as  yet 
tuned  his  lyre  in  praise  of  Kahului,  or  if  the 
indigenous  prophet  has  foretold  the  greatness 
of  her  future;  but  any  one  who  knows  any- 
thing of  this  breezy  port  of  entry,  will  not 
find  it  difficult  to  accept  such  a  prophecy  with- 
out much  margin. 

Hers  is  not  the  ephemeral  prosperity  that 
fell  to  the  lot  of-  Kalepolepo  in  the  halcyon 
days.  She  is  backed  by  thriving  plantations 
that  gladden  the  highlands  and  the  lowlands 
of  Maui.  She  boasts  her  own  mercantile 
marine,  her  custom-house,  her  railway,  and 
her  wreck  in  the  harbor,  of  which  only  the 
spareribs  are  remaining. 
165 


1 66  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

There  is  a  court-house  of  brick  and  a  club 
of  good  fellows,  and  far  more  spirit  among 
the  people  than  might  generally  be  looked  for 
in  a. town  of  her  size;  for  Kahului  is  not  a 
"city  of  magnificent  distances,"  as  yet. 

Were  it  not  that  I  am  shortsighted,  I  might 
have  been  a  land-owner  of  some  consequence 
before  now;  for  I  well  remember  the  day 
when  I  rode  over  the  site  of  this  city,  follow- 
ing the  cattle  tracks  in  the  stunted  stubble, 
and  wondering  what  manner  of  beast  it  might 
be  that  hunted  in  that  region  for  refreshment. 

Blinding  sand-hills  shut  out  the  horizon 
on  the  one  hand;  blinding  sea-hills  break  into 
avalanches  of  spune  and  spray  on  the  other 
hand;  and  between  the  two  lies  a  perennial 
drought — the  abomination  of  desolation. 

I  didn't  care  to  possess  it  then;  I  would 
not  like  to  hold  a  squatter  right  within  a  mile 
of  it  now — unless  I  could  be  sure  of  disposing 
of  it  for  cash  in  season  to  take  the  first  out- 
ward-bound train. 

Yet  the  town  is  full  of  wholesome  people, 
who  seem  obliviously  happy;  and  what  man 
will  gainsay  them  the  right  to  be  so,  or  compel 
them  to  show  cause?  They  know  a  great  deal 


THE    LAND    OF    CANE  1 67 

more  about  the  secret  charms  of  Kahului  than 
we  do, — vastly  more,  no  doubt,  than  we  can 
ever  hope  to  know. 

She  has  her  dock  jutting  out  into  deep 
water;  her  barges,  like  floating  docks,  that 
easily  accommodate  themselves  to  the  varying 
tides.  She  has  also  her  Oriental  eating-house 
—how  appetizing  that  sounds! — her  billiard- 
halls,  her  tonsorial  artist,  and — well,  one  of 
the  best  furnished  shops  in  the  Kingdom. 

There  are  boating-parties,  serenades,  and 
late  suppers  on  board  the  crack  craft  from  the 
coast;  polite  visitations  among  the  neigh- 
borly; and  on  Saturday  nights,  or  at  least  on 
some  of  them,  much  hilarity  when  the 
Spreckelsville  boys  come  to  town. 

The  little  dock  is  crowded  whenever  the 
steamer  comes  in.  It  is  crowded  again  on  the 
departure  of  the  boat.  One  would  almost 
imagine  that  there  are  nothing  but  meetings 
and  partings  in  Kahului;  for  between  the  acts 
she  is  not  a  frolicsome  burg.  If  one  were 
disposed ~to  be  ungracious,  one  might  say  that, 
outwardly,  Kahului  discovers  the  unpictur- 
esque  disorder  which  is  characteristic  of  all 
border  settlements. 


1 68  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Everywhere  one  sees  evidences  of  prema- 
turity. If  she  has  a  street,  it  can  hardly, 
even  by  courtesy,  be  called  straight.  The 
houses  seem  to  have  sprung  up,  like  toad- 
stools, wherever  it  was  most  convenient.  A 
better  figure,  perhaps,  is  that,  like  a  bed  of 
ostrich  eggs,  she  seems  to  have  hatched  out 
in  the  sun-baked  sand;  and,  judging  from  the 
almost  total  absence  of  verdure,  one  might 
add  that,  like  the  ostrich,  the  inhabitants  are 
accustomed  to  bury  their  heads  in  the  arena- 
ceous deposits,  and  imagine  themselves 
covered. 

I  wonder  if  any  green  thing  will  take  root 
and  grow  here — anything  beside  the  thick, 
rank  grass,  and  the  fat-leaved  sea-convolvulus, 
with  its  briny  sap? 

I  wonder  if  the  sea  were  to  rise  and  pass 
over  it,  whether  the  town  would  take  on  a 
fresher  look  and  show  a  bit  of  color  here  and 
there?  She  is  of  a  sandy  complexion  and  all 
of  one  tint.  The  mud  villages  of  the  Egyp- 
tian Nile  are  not  more  so.  She  is  right  in  the 
wind;  and  the  booming  trades,  damp  with 
spray,  might  cloud  the  glass  in  the  rattling 
windows  with  salt;  yet  she  seems  knee-deep 


THE    LAND    OF    CANE  169 

in  desert  dirt,  and  the  biting  sun  fastens  a 
sharp  fang  upon  her,  and  keeps  it  there  all 
day. 

In  spite  of  this,  she  is  lusty  and  ambitious, 
and,  I  doubt  not,  hopes  to  divide  the  King- 
dom's commerce  with  the  capital.  She 
already  has  her  depot  and  noble  warehouses, 
and  a  spread  of  side  tracks,  like  a  skeleton 
fan,  strung  full  of  freight-cars  that  have  evi- 
dently seen  service.  She  has  her  daily  trains 
running  up  and  down  the  coast,  with  an 
elastic  "time  table,"  one  "to  suit  all  sights 
and  to  suit  all  ages,"  Moreover,  she  has  a 
diminutive  locomotive  that  is  positively  the 
most  obliging  of  its  kind  that  ever  ran  on 
wheels. 

It  must  be  that  "the  last  man"  is  a  myth 
in  Kahului;  for  no  one  was  ever  known  to 
get  left  there.  After  sitting  for  a  long  half 
hour  on  the  uncovered  platform-car  that  does 
Pullman  duty  on  this  line,  after  steeping  in 
the  sunshine  or  scorching  in  the  wind  until 
patience  perishes  from  sheer  exhaustion,  the 
little  locomotive  comes  in  out  of  the  meadow 
as  frisky  as  a  corn-fed  filly,  and  the  tourist 
tightens  his  hat-band  for  instant  flight.  But 


I/O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

the  locomotive  is  only  pirouetting  in  a  burst 
of  enthusiasm  and  steam,  rehearsing  a  kind 
of  glide-waltz  among  the  side-tracks.  It  slides 
off  in  one  direction  to  lead  up  a  car-partner, 
then  glides  away  in  another  to  draw  out  a 
bashful  mate  from  the  seclusion  of  the  wood- 
piles. Perhaps  it  is  the  german  and  not  the 
glide-waltz;  for  when  there  are  enough  of 
these  partners  in  waiting,  the  whole  of  them 
are  sent  bowling  down  the  main  track,  where 
we  receive  them  with  a  bang  and  a  suppressed 
shriek.  The  dance  is  kept  up  so  long  as 
there  is  anything  to  be  gained  by  it,  and  long 
after  there  is  any  fun  in  it;  and  then  when 
Hope  and  Despair  have  been  sandwiched  as 
deep  as  a  jelly  cake,  we  actually  get  started 
for  Wailuku,  Spreckelsville  or  Paia,  as  the 
case  may  be.  But  even  now  the  last  man, 
woman  or  child  does  not  hurry;  for  any  one 
may  toddle  across  lots,  having  wound  up  a 
conversation  and  punctuated  it,  and  comfort- 
ably board  the  train  in  the  suburbs. 

All  trains  are  accommodation  trains — that 
is,  if  one  is  in  no  hurry.  I  believe  the  oblig- 
ing engineer  would,  if  so  desired,  reverse  and 
go  back  to  pick  up  the  point  of  a  joke;  and, 


THE    LAND   OF   CANE  T/I 

though  in  calm  weather  or  on  holidays  he  may 
encourage  a  brief  spurt  with  some  gallant 
horseman  on  the  salt  flats,  beyond  the  town, 
it  would  probably  not  interfere  with  the 
schedule  or  the  sentiments  of  the  railway 
company  if  he  were  to  slow  down  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  a  fly  on  the  track. 

I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  a  great  conven- 
ience to  be  able  to  mount  a  pyramid  of  freight 
when  the  two  benches  of  the  passenger-car 
are  filled,  even  though  a  portion  of  that  freight 
be  animated  pork.  It  is  joy  to  roll  down  the 
metals  on  an  easy  grade.  Although  the  pas- 
senger accommodations  are  primitive  and 
limited,  the  fare  is  reasonable  enough.  Travel 
on  this  line  seems  to  be  looked  at  in  the  light 
of  a  "lark;"  and  the  travelers  are  apparently 
the  jolliest  people  in  the  world  until  the  loco- 
motive begins  to  blow  a  whistle — a  piercing, 
ear-splitting  scream  that  is  positively  paralyz- 
ing. But  good-riature  is  soon  restored,  espe- 
cially if  we  are  approaching  Kahului.  The 
array  of  inebriated-looking  out-houses  is 
diverting  and  the  habit  of  leaving  hogsheads  of 
fresh  water  at  the  rear  elevation  of  those  res- 
idences inhabited  by  water-drinkers —  dropping 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 


them  on  the  wing,  as  it  were  —  is  an  amus- 
ing characteristic  of  the  railroad  employees. 
Finally,  we  are  all  perfectly  happy  when  the 
trowserless  small  boy,  striding  the  fence 
in  the  foreground,  waves  the  surplus  of  his 
solitary  garment  and  shouts  a  wild"Hooroo!" 

Only  to  think  that  I  might  have  owned  the 
whole  parish  —  been  a  bloated  capitalist  —  by 
this  time,  and  have  called  the  place  Some- 
thing-ville!  Is  it  chagrin,  I  wonder,  that 
causes  me  to  confess  myself  bored?  Is  it 
because  the  palms  of  my  hands  are  parching, 
and  there  is  sand  in  my  boots,  and  my  throat 
is  filled  with  dust,  that  I  am  constrained  to 
whisper  in  your  ear  that  Kahului  at  present 
looks  just  a  little  as  if  the  wind  blew  it  in? 

Kahului  is  the  seaport  of  Spreckelsville.  Of 
course  you  have  heard  all  about  Spreckels- 
ville. It  was  probably  your  ear  for  euphony 
that  caught  the  faint  sound  as  it  fell  the  first 
time  you  heard  the  word  uttered  and  to  your 
last  day  it  will  ring  loud  and  clear  in  the  fine 
harmony  of  Hawaiian  nomenclature. 

Spreckelsville!  Think  of  the  multitudinous 
waters  that  are  associated  with  Hawaiian 
localities,  and  fly  to  Spreckelsville  for  relief! 


THE    LAND   OF    CANE  173 

After  such  a  babbling  of  water-brooks,  and  of 
waters  that  sparkle  or  leap  or  sleep,  or  are 
imprisoned, — of  waters  that  are  sweet  or 
bitter,  silent  or  songful,  sacred  or  profane,  — 
waters  of  life-everlasting,  or  of  death  and 
destruction;  after.seas  that  jet,  or  rush  rudely, 
or  stand  still;  that  threaten  or  beguile,  or  do 
anything  that  seas  may  do  to  make  a  name- 
sake of  the  land  or  lea  that  lies  nearest  them, 
— how  refreshing  to  come  upon  such  a  name 
as  Spreckelsville,  with  its  numberless  beauti- 
ful associations! 

Sit  still,  my  heart!  Sing,  Oh  muse,  of 
Spreckelsville!  Let  the  prodigious  extinct 
crater  claim  to  be  the  habitation  of  the  sun, 
and  the  groves  above  the  brow  of  yonder  hill 
boast  "ripe  bread-fruit  for  the  gods."  We 
will  show  them  what's  in  a  name;  for  we  can 
prove  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  nasal  organ  in 
Christendom  that  one  bottle  of  the  extract  of 
Spreckelsville  (there  is  a  small  lake  of  it  down 
by  the  railway,  to  the  windward  of  the  Spreck- 
elsville headquarters)  will  smell  as  sweet, 
though  you  were  to  call  it  by  any  other  name 
in  the  whole  Hawaiian  vocabulary. 

You    must    have    heard    how    the    modern 


174  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Midas,  with  a  touch  of  his  magic  wand,  has 
made  the  desert  to  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Great  Christopher,  what  a  desert  it  was  in  my 
day!  And  to  think  that  you  or  I  might  have 
possessed  ourselves  of  Spreckelsville,  when  it 
was  called  Puunene,  for  a  mere  song — that 
is,  if  we  had  cared  for  it,  and  known  how  to 
sing! 

It  was  one  of  the  waste  places  of  the  earth; 
its  only  apology  for  existence  was  that  it 
afforded  an  extremely  disagreeable  passage 
from  East  to  West  Maui.  If  the  Red  Sea 
had  forgotten  to  close  up  again  after  the 
Israelites  had  gone  through  it  dry-shod,  the 
physical  geography  of  the  passage  would  no 
doubt  resemble  the  site  of  Spreckelsville,  and 
of  the  plantation  as  it  was  when  I  first 
knew  it. 

The  four  winds  of  heaven  used  to  meet 
there,  and  raise  cain  long  before  Sir  Claus 
Spreckels  ever  dreamed  of  doing  it.  There 
were  mounds  of  dust,  like  brick-dust,  where 
the  winds  wallowed.  When  they  grew  tired 
of  that  sport,  they  used  to  join  forces  and 
waltz  madly  among  the  dustheaps.  You 
should  have  seen  them  then!  The  dust  grew 


THE    LAND    OF    CANE 


restless  and  began  to  rise  and  whirl;  it  took 
the  shape  of  a  cylindrical  cloud,  buzzing  like 
a  top,  and  climbing  into  the  very  sky.  Higher 
and  higher  it  climbed,  reeling  dizzily,  twisting 
and  curving  as  gracefully  as  a  swan's  throat. 
It  was  spun  like  a  web  out  of  that  dust-heap; 
and  when  the  fabric  was  complete,  it  trailed 
slowly  along  the  arid  plain.  It  had  a  voice, 
too,  —  a  horrible  voice,  that  hummed  and  mut- 
tered while  the  weird  thing  was  spirally 
ascending;  and  then,  when  it  was  about  a 
mile  high,  it  started  out  across  the  waste  like 
an  avenging  spirit  and  passed  on  over  the  sea, 
or  was  drawn  up  into  the  heavens  and  dis- 
pelled. 

Sometimes  there  were  two  or  three  of  these 
dust  fountains  abroad  at  one  time.  Water- 
spouts are  pretty  enough  when  you  look  at 
them  from  the  windward;  but  dust-spouts  are 
far  prettier,  for  they  are  like  great  amber 
tubes;  and  you  almost  wonder  that  they  don't 
snap  and  fall  to  the  earth  in  fragments  as 
they  writhe  in  air  space. 

All  these  spectacular  displays  have  given 
place  to  developments  of  a  very  practical 
nature.  If  you  had  asked  me  a  few  years  ago 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 


what  I  thought  of  the  isthmus  of  Maui  as  an 
investment,  I  would  confidently  have  assured 
you  that  there  was  not  a  spoonful  of  good  soil 
to  be  had  for  the  digging  from  one  end  of  it 
to  the  other.  I  would  have  suggested  cutting 
a  canal  through  the  middle  of  it;  so  as  to 
avoid,  if  possible,  a  repetition  of  the  accident 
that  befell  a  certain  navigator  some  years 
ago,  who  came  near  running  down  the  island 
and  beached  his  ship  below  Spreckelsville, 
while  heading  for  Lanai. 

But,  after  all,  how  little  we  scribes  know 
of  these  things!  Perhaps  the  Pharisees  are 
better  posted.  At  any  rate,  it  seems  that 
one  has  only  to  flood  the  sand,  and  all  the 
latent  life  that  is  in  it  buds  and  blossoms  and 
bears  fruit,  so  that  in  a  little  time  you  would 
not  know  it  had  ever  been  anything  other 
than  a  garden  spot. 

Midas  needed  innumerable  hands  to  do  the 
work  he  had  planned.  His  sails  whitened  the 
seas,  his  hordes  swarmed  in  upon  the  parched 
plains  and  were  gathered  into  various  camps 
and  clans  under  a  head  center,  who  lived  in 
a  shadowless  big  house.  He  wanted  water. 
With  a  wave  of  his  hand,  lo!  Claudian 


THE    LAND   OF   CANE  1 77 

aqueducts  poured  mountain  torrents  into  the 
lap  of  the  wilderness. 

Then  the  sowers  went  forth  to  sow  and  the 
reapers  to  reap;  and  by  the  time  the  mills — 
not  the  mills  of  the  gods,  that  grind  slowly 
but  grind  exceedingly  small — were  well  agoing, 
one  could  see  almost  at  a  single  glance  how 
the  green  shoot  plumed  and  ripened,  and  the 
juice  rippled  and  bubbled  through  mysterious 
processes,  till  it  fell  into  yawning  sacks  in  a 
shower  of  snowy  flakes. 

Pardon  me  if  my  language  is  somewhat 
inflated!  It  is  a  custom  one  easily  acquires 
in  a  community  where  everything  is  done  on 
the  Spreckelsville  scale.  And  don't  look  to 
me  for  figures,  save  only  the  figures  of  speech; 
the  weights  and  measures  are  all  set  down  in 
their  proper  places ;  and  when  I  have  acknowl- 
edged the  immensity  of  this  particular  enter- 
prise, I  have  done  all  that  can  be  expected 
of  me  in  that  line. 

Progress — the  ogre  of  the  nineteenth  cent- 
ury— Progress,  with  a  precipitous  P, — is  the 
war-cry  of  Spreckelsville.  In  her  track  the 
steam-plow  is  rampant,  and  here  mechanical 
ingenuity  can  go  no  further  at  present.  The 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

vacuum-pan  is  as  big  as  a  balloon;  there  is  a 
forest  of  smoke-stacks  over  the  engine-house; 
so  that  that  portion  of  the  settlement  looks 
like  the  levee  at  New  Orleans  in  the  cotton 
season.  When  the  wind  blows — did  it  ever 
cease  at  Spreckelsville?— and  the  pebbles  begin 
to  pour  upon  the  roof,  you  would  imagine  a 
broadside  of  Catling  guns  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  settlement. 

Yet  the  desert  blossoms,  as  stated  above, 
and  the  transformation  is  little  short  of 
miraculous.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  deeply 
impressed  at  the  numberless  green  acres  of 
cane, — acres  that  stretch  even  to  the  horizon, 
and  cane  that  is  brought  up  by  hand,  as  it 
were?  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  awestruck 
when  I  see  armies  marshalled  forth  from  the 
several  camps,  and  dispatched  to  their  respect- 
ive fields,  as  if  by  magic  or  machinery? 

It  is  true  that,  barring  the  green  tinge  of 
the  growing  crops  and  the  brick-red  dust  on 
the  borderland,  this  plantation  is  monotony 
exemplified;  that  in  the  artistic  eye  it  is,  and 
probably  always  will  be,  without  form  and 
void;  that  its  scattered  camps  are  like  bar- 
racks of  the  barest  and  bleakest  description. 


THE    LAND   OF   CANE 


Umbrageous  is  a  word  which  will  probably 
never  find  place  in  the  lexicon  of  the  still 
youthful  Spreckelsville. 

Now,  if  I  were  a  prominent  shareholder,  I 
would  at  once  suggest  that  we  "rub  out  and 
begin  again7';  that  we  spend  less  money  in 
splurging  and  more'in  civilizing;  we  would  not 
spread  over  so  much  land,  very  likely,  but 
we  would  not  spread  it  so  thin.  After  all, 
what  is  your  sugar-cane  but  a  large  and 
juicier  kind  of  grass?  And  what  is  the  sugar 
market  but  a  delusion  and  a  snare? 

It  has  been  the  custom  in  some  quarters  to 
speak  lightly  of  the  Spreckelsville  boys. 
Their  name  is  legion.  I  can  honestly  say 
that  they,  at  least,  have  some  style  about 
them.  When  I  hear  trousers  fondly  called 
"pants,"  and  see  spring-bottom  editions  of  the 
article,  which  marks  the  year  one  of  the 
Christian  era  in  this  Kingdom,  flapping  over 
a  two-inch  hoodlum  heel,  I  assure  myself  and 
you  that  the  wearers  of  those  garments  have 
not  yet  descended  to  the  level  of  the  "poor 
whites,"  some  of  whom  have  slunk  away  into 
the  unvisited  recesses  of  these  islands.  Poor 
whites,  indeed  —  a  hopeless  element,  known 


180  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

through  the  South  Pacific  as  Beche  de  mer- 
men. 

At  Spreckelsville  the  interest  in  athletics  is 
retained.  They  still  live  in  the  hope  of  get- 
ting out  of  the  Kingdom  at  some  future  day; 
and  at  Spreckelsville,  more  than  at  any  other 
place  I  know  of,  the  masculine  sentiment  of 
republicanism  is  nourished  in  all  its  vigorous 
virility. 

It  is  refreshing  to  see  so  large  a  body  of 
young  men  successfully  fighting  against  the 
voluptuous  allurements  of  the  climate;  and  it 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if,  at  times,  some 
unlucky  one  is  a  temporary  study  in  black  and 
blue;  or  that  the  prodigal  sons  troop  down 
to  Kahului  on  Saturday  night  to  waste  their 
substance  in  riotous  living. 

In  a  community  like  this,  where  everything 
is  done  on  a  great,  I  may  say  on  a  very  great, 
scale — let  us  spell  Great  with  a  pot-bellied  £, 
—an  escape  valve  is  absolutely  necessary. 
Perhaps  nowhere  in  the  world  is  an  escape 
valve  more  necessary  than  at  Spreckelsville 
— and  here,  if  you  please,  we  will  spell  Spreck- 
elsville with  an  abnormal  5. 


XXVII. 

UP  HALEAKALA. 

CITTING  on  the  balcony  of  the  Maison 
Rouge  at  Waihee — a  balcony  that  uncon- 
sciously affected  the  air  of  a  proscenium  box 
at  the  Grand  Opera,  and  was  certainly  more 
comfortable  and  far  less  expensive, — sitting 
on  the  balcony,  of  the  Little  Red  House  at 
the  Corners,  I  witnessed  day  after  day  and 
night  after  night  such  spectacles  as  were  never 
attempted  on  any  stage  we  wot  of. 

'Twas  an  ever-varying  combination  of  land- 
scape, seascape  and  skyscape.  The  whole 
gamut  of  color — the  seven-toned  prism — met 
and  mingled  in  exquisite  harmony  in  one 
sweep  of  the  eye.  In  no  two  hours  of  the 
day  was  this  all-embracing  prospect  quite  the 
same,  I  think  I  may  safely  add  that  in  no 
two  hours  of  any  two  days,  or  two  weeks 
either,  was  that  picture  quite  the  same. 
There  was  the  dusty  winding  road  in  the  fore- 
181 


1 82  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

ground;  but  delicious  rainshowers  swept  over 
the  sea  and  went  trailing  up  the  road,  and 
the  road  was  quite  another  road  after  that. 
Or  perhaps  the  bullock-carts  laden  with  juicy 
cane-stalks  came  creaking  down  over  the  hill 
and  the  volume  of  ochre-tinted  dust  that  fol- 
lowed them  made  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day. 

Why,  speaking  of  dust!  I've  seen  from 
that  very  balcony  of  the  Maison  Rouge,  away 
off  in  that  strip  of  desert  yonder,  the  meeting 
of  two  winds.  When  two  winds  meet,  they 
waltz  for  a  season  before  parting.  In  the 
giddy  whirl  of  this  waltz  of  the  elements,  their 
invisible  skirts  swept  up  so  great  a  dust  that 
the  red-powdered  earth  spun  itself  into  a  long, 
slender,  tapering  column,  that  swayed  and 
pirouetted  in  airy  curves.  'Twas  like  the 
body  of  a  serpent  that  is  about  to  strike  its 
adversary.  Sometimes  a  pair  of  these  would 
uncoil  in  midair,  and  soar  serenely  across  the 
low,  dusty  isthmus  that  connects  the  two 
mountainous  districts  of  Maui.  Were  they 
to  come  my  way,  it  would  behoove  me  to  fly 
into  some  cave  for  shelter.  And  they  are  not 
to  be  trifled  with.  On  land  we  call  them 
dust  chimneys.  Happily,  they  are  neither 


UP    HALEAKALA  183 

numerous  nor  long-lived.  They  are  the  only 
animated  features  in  the  landscape, — the  only 
really  animated  features.  Of  course  the  clouds 
are  ever  with  us,  and  the  storm-cloud  is  one 
of  these;  but  we  fear  the  cloud  less  than  the 
whirlwind  with  that  exclamation  point,  the 
whirling  chimney  of  red  dust. 

There  is  the-  sea,  with  its  thousand  change- 
ful lights — the  Eastern  Sea.  From  my  couch 
in  the  Maison  Rouge  I  can  watch  the  sun  over 
the  waves  without  raising  my  head  from  my 
pillow.  If  I  grow  weary  of  this  matutinal 
diversion,  I  have  only  to  turn,  and  there, 
from  the  opposite  windows,  my  eyes  rest  upon 
precipitous  slopes,  greener  than  the  greenest 
emerald,  the  groves  climbing  far  up  their 
flanks,  the  clouds  pressing  down  upon  their 
brows,  while  from  the  bosom  of  these  clouds 
gush  half  a  score  of  rivulets: 

'  'And,  like  a  downward  smoke,  each  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall,  and  pause,  and  fall,  did  seem." 

Ah,  this  is  the  lotus  eaters'  land!  You 
know  that  after  every  shower  a  thousand 
streams  are  born;  they  don't  last  long — in 
half  an  hour  or  less  they  have  run  their 
course.  But  from  the  brow  of  every  cloud- 


184  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

visited  cliff,  at  any  moment  a  stream  may 
spring  to  life,  and,  running  headlong  into 
space,  soon  end  itself 

"A  land  of  streams!    Some  like  a  downward  smoke, 

Slow  dropping  veils  of  thinnest  lawn,  did  go; 
And  some  thro'  wavering  lights  and  shadows  broke, 
Rolling  a  slumbering  sheet  of  foam  below." 

Yet  all  this  is  merely  foreground.  What 
I'm  trying  to  get  at  is  Haleakala,  the  great 
extinct  crater  that  is  a  perpetual  delight  to 
the  eye  as  I  gaze  at  it  daily — yes,  and  far  into 
the  night,  when  the  moon  is  shining,  while  I 
lounge  on  the  balcony  of  the  Maison  Rouge 
at  Waihee. 

From  a  distance,  Haleakala  looks  as  sleek 
as  a  whale,  and  very  like  a  whale.  With  a 
glass  you  may  descry  tufts  of  fuzz  on  its  blue- 
gray  sides.  But  you  do  not  for  a  moment 
imagine  that  the  fuzzy  tufts  are  forests;  that 
the  whole  slope  of  the  mountain  is  gutted  with 
ravines;  and  that  the  piebald  patches'  scat- 
tered over  its  surface  are  jungles  of  wild  weeds, 
grown  wilder  ever  since  the  sun  dried  the 
deluge-damp  out  of  the  primeval  soil. 

Very  few  of  the  continental  tourists  who 
are  called  out  of  bed  at  an  unwonted  hour, 


UP    HALEAKALA  185 

and  creep  forth,  covered  with  blankets  and 
confusion,  to  see  the  sun  rise  on  the  Righi 
Culm,  realize  that  the  selfsame  sun  rises  daily 
all  the  world  over;  and  that  there  are  sun- 
rises we  know  of  that  might  put  the  Righi  to 
the  blush,  though  her  sunrise  were  of  the 
deepest  dye.  Why  do  so  few  island  tourists 
do  Haleakala?  Is  she  not  the  "house  of  the 
sun'*?  Shall  the  sun  not  rise  in  his  own  house, 
with  all  his  paraphernalia  about  him,  in  as 
much  state  as  upon  any  Alp  in  the  world? 
Does  he  riot  refuse  to  rise  at  intervals  upon 
the  poles?  And  once  up,  does  he  not  refuse 
to  go  down  again,  as  if  it  were  not  worth  his 
while?  Where  is  his  beam  brighter,  his  glow 
fiercer,  his  reign  longer,  than  in  the  tropics? 
And  where  else  do  such  pomp  and  splendor 
wait  upon  his  in-coming  and  his  out-going  as 
along  the  equatorial  seas? 

Blankets  we  need  on  Haleakala,  albeit  we 
are  in  the  tropics;  and  provision  and  hot 
coffee;  a  guide  to  lead  the  way,  and  another 
to  keep  him  company — both  to  be  utilized, 
perhaps,  as  human  warming-pans  when  the 
cold  hours  of  the  night  come  on.  Bottles  of 
water  are  also  indispensable,  and  a  bottle  of 


1 86  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

spirits,  and  enough  of  the  sweet  Indian  weed 
to  burn  the  night  out  between  fitful  naps  that 
are  but  dream-glimpses  of  Labrador. 

We  set  forth  with  breath  enough  to  shout 
joyfully  to  one  another,  as  we  pass  in  Indian- 
file  along  the  trail.  All  this  time  the  earth  is 
receding,  and  the  top  of  the  mountain  in  like 
proportion;  it  is  as  if  the  upward  climbing 
path  were  elastic, 'and  the  two  ends  of  it  were 
being  stretched  out  as  we  advance,  leaving 
us  to  amble  forever  in  the  middle  distance. 
But  by  and  by  some  cooler  currents  of  air 
that  flow  over  us, — invisible  rivers  of  refresh- 
ment; the  clouds  that  were  a  canopy  become 
a  carpet;  the  flying  scud  brushes  our  faces; 
we  are  at  intervals  enveloped  in  sudden  and 
evanescent  mists  that  anon  sweep  noiselessly 
past,  and  become  .entangled  among  the  deep, 
dark  woods. 

It  is  very  still;  sometimes  it  is  very  steep; 
but  we  know  that  we  may  ride  to  the  rim  of 
the  crater  without  dismounting — unless  by 
accident, — and  that  the  air,  which  is  already 
thin,  will  grow  thinner  and  thinner  to  the  last 
gasp  on  the  tiptop  of  the  globe. 

We    are    an    asthmatical    crew,    man    and 


UP    HALEAKALA  187 

beast;  legs  and  lungs  are  failing  in  concert. 
Oh,  if  one  could  only  husband  one's  breath 
like  the  bagpipe,  for  instance,  or  blow  one's 
self  up  like  the  balloon-fish  against  this  hour 
of  general  debility !  What  a  waste  of  energy 
goes  on  without  ceasing  in  the  worrisome  little 
world  down  yonder!  And  what  does  one  gain 
by  it,  save  hastening  his  end  ? 

Do  very  old  people  feel  like  this,  I  wonder? 
Five  paces,  and  a  halt  for  repairs;  all  things 
growing  dim  to  the  sight — men  as  trees  walk- 
ing,— and  all  sounds  faint  and  far  away,  as  if 
cotton  were  stuffed  in  their  ears. 

The  mountain  top  was  as  red  as  a  live  coal 
when  we  came  to  it;  the  sun  was  gone,  but  he 
was  not  yet  forgotten.  So  we  set  up  our 
tabernacle  in  the  midst  thereof,  and  kindled 
a  huge  fire — for  with  the  feast  of  the  eye 
came  faintness  and  famine  of  the  stomach,  as 
is  usually  the  case.  One  can  not  travel  far 
on  the  chameleon's  dish;  it  has  no  staying 
qualities,  and  we  must  needs  eat  and  drink 
and  be  satisfied  before  we  sit  down  to  a  long 
and  silent  contemplation  of  nature.  What  a 
fright  it  was,  the  crater,  when  we  first  looked 
into  it!  A  burnt-out  furnace,  in  which  the 


I  88  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

gods  might  have  forged  the  stars;  or  a  bomb, 
out  of  which  they  might  have  shot  comets,  if 
they  had  cared  to.  Only  think  of  it:  thirty 
miles  around  the  brim ;  two  thousand  perpen- 
dicular feet  down  to  the  bottom  of  it  in  the 
shallow  parts,  and  at  some  points  the  walls 
towering  eight  hundred  feet  higher  yet!  All 
this  is  one  colossal  crater,  the  greatest  in  the 
world,  having  within  it  nigh  a  score  of  lesser 
craters,  cone-shaped  excrescences,  the  largest 
six  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  these  with 
funnel-like  mouths,  after  the  fashion  of  Strom- 
boli,  Vesuvius  and  ^Etna. 

The  crater  is  a  mixture  of  clay  and  shale, 
veneered  with  successive  lava  flows.  It  is  as 
dry  as  a  bone  to-day.  I  doubt  if  a  dove  from 
the  Ark  could  find  so  much  as  a  green  leaf 
for  a  token,  since  all  the  "house  of  the  sun" 
has  become  as  the  abomination  of  desolation 
throughout  its  many  mansions.  In  fact,  it 
looks  like  the  wrong  side  of  the  world. 

At  our  camp-fire  we  brewed  draughts  hot 
as  Tophet  and  sweet  as  Hyblsean  dew.  We 
stirred  the  embers  and  waited;  for  the  night 
was  chilly  and  dark,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  wait.  The  earth  seemed  to  have  sunk 


UP  HALEAKALA  I 89 

into  space  under  us;  we  were  alone  on  a  rock 
in  the  sky.  Presently  something  startled  us; 
the  night  heaved  a  long-drawn  sigh;  then  a 
shadow  rose  before  us  where  no  shadow  had 
been  before,  and,  half  in  fright,  we  turned 
toward  the  crater  and  met  the  sad  moon  face 
to  face. 

Immediately  what  had  seemed  to  us  hideous 
became  beautiful;  the  vast,  shapeless  depths 
were  spiritualized;  the  walls  were  silvered, 
and  they  gleamed  like  sculptured  marble;  the 
floor  of  the  crater  was  one  broad  mosaic,  the 
inner  craters  like  the  basins  of  dry  fountains 
sprinkled  with  star-dust.  We  saw  a  sky- 
pavilioned  temple,  with  shadowy  buttresses, 
dim  niches  peopled  with  glimmering  statues, 
and  echoless  colonnades  stretching  beyond  the 
vision — but  never  a  worshiper  save  we  three 
mutes,  clinging  like  animalcules  to  a  pinnacle 
among  the  heights.  How  cold  it  was  all  that 
time ! — as  cold  as  the  moon  looks  through  a 
telescope;  and,  like  the  moon,  naked  for  all 
the  cold.  But  even  if  you  get  down  to  zero, 
or  below  it,  on  Haleakala,  suffer  not  your  heart 
to  be  troubled.  Weeping  may  endure  for  a 
night,  but  joy  cometh  with  the  morning. 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 


It  must  have  been  about  an  hour  before  day- 
break, after  a  night  of  exquisite  unrest,  when 
we  were  again  hanging  upon  the  rim  of  the 
crater.  Ribbons  of  mist  were  streaming  in 
from  the  windward-gap,  floating  airily  along 
under  the  shelter  and  the  shadow  of  the  walls, 
curling  above  and  beneath  the  massive  pro- 
jections; sometimes  white  in  the  moonlight, 
sometimes  lost  in  thick  darkness.  Then  fold 
upon  fold  unwound  from  the  mass  of  cloud 
that  was  continually  gathering  in  from  the  sea; 
invisible  hands  bore  it  hither  and  yon,  drap- 
ing the  rough  rock,  festooning  every  cliff, 
wreathing  the  spires,  and  clothing  the  barren 
peaks  with  a  pale  garment.  And  then  the 
figure  was  at  once  lost  ;  for  the  flood-gates  of 
heaven  were  thrown  wide  open,  and  wave 
after  wave  of  cloud  poured  through  in  one 
immeasurable  flood. 

The  gulf  was  filled  to  the  brim;  the  whole 
earth  and  the  world  passed  away;  we  were 
lost  in  a  stormy  chaos  of  impalpable  snow. 
Away  out  upon  the  edge  of  it  we  saw  a  faint, 
blue  line;  it  was  the  horizon.  Sometimes, 
in  a  lull,  we  caught  glimpses  of  denser  clouds: 
they  were  islands.  I  fancied  I  could  almost 


UP   HALEAKALA  IQI 

see  the  globe  bulging  like  an  orange;  and  I 
thought  how  we  must  look  at  a  dim  distance, 
as  we  hung  suspended  in  midair,  boundless 
space  above  us,  boundless  space  beneath  us, 
boundless  space  on  either  hand;  we  swimming, 
a  mere  puff-ball,  in  the  translucent  element, 
which  is  without  beginning  and  without  end; 
wherein  we  cast  no  shadow  to  speak  of,  the 
very  shadow  itself  dissolving  away  in  the  space 
through  which  we  swim  insensibly, — the 
thought  made  me  dizzy  and  faint.  Why  not 
rise  up  and  take  my  Icarian  flight,  perchance 
landing  upon  some  other  planet;  or,  missing 
that,  disappear  an  atom  in  the  universe? 
Rare  air  makes  one  light-headed.  Meanwhile 
the  day  broke  tumultuously.  We  hearkened, 
but  heard  nothing.  Yet  the  turbulent  clouds 
were  gorged,  and  from  gaping  wounds  gushed 
rivers  of  golden  blood  in  a  deluge  of  insuffer- 
able splendor.  It  was  the  storming  of  the 
Citadel  of  Silence! 

I  know  they  imagine  a  vain  thing  who  hope 
to  make  the  sunrise  before  another's  eyes.  I 
know  that  there  is  neither  speech  nor  language 
that  can  image  it;  that  one  glimpse  of  the 
reality  is  sufficient  to  confound  the  whole 


HAWAIIAN    LIFE 


army  of  gazetteers.  Yet  we  all  try  our  hand 
at  it,  because  it  is  our  delight  and  our  despair. 
We  are  flushed  with  the  elixir  that  is  drunk 
only  upon  the  heights;  its  aroma  is  in  our 
blood.  Oh  these  heights!  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  He  w  nt  up  into  a  mountain  to  pray,  and 
that  the  blessed  company  of  hermits  and  holy 
ones  have  followed  in  His  footsteps  since  that 
day? 

Turn  now  your  endazzled  eye  on  the  full 
splendor  of  the  east,  where  the  Shekinah  is 
unveiled  in  clouds  of  glory,  ineffable  symbol 
of  the  All-glorious!  And  symbolically  —  since 
everything  in  nature  is  symbolical  —  in  the 
uprising  of  yonder  sun  behold  the  Elevation 
of  the  Host'. 


XXVIII. 

AFTERGLOW. 

T^HERE  is  a  bell  in  a  certain  tower,  — a 
tower  quite  near  me,  yet  not  visible  from 
my  windows.  At  six  o'clock  every  morning 
that  bell  does  its  best  to  tip  over  in  delirious 
joy;  but  a  dozen  strokes  of  the  big  iron  tongue 
usually  complete  its  effort,  and  the  last  note 
vibrates  and  spins  itself  out  indefinitely.  I 
like  to  be  awakened  by  that  bell;  I  like  to 
hear  it  at  meridian,  when  my  day's  work  is 
nearly  done.  It  is  swinging  this  very  moment; 
and  the  heavy  hammer  is  bumping  its  head 
on  either  side  of  the  rim,  wrought  to  a  pitch 
of  melodious  fury. 

The  voice  of  it  is  so  like  the  voice  of  a  cer- 
tain bell  I  used  to  hear  in  a  dreamy  sea-side 
village  away  off  in  the  Tropics,  that  I  have 
only  to  close  my  eyes  and  I  am  over  the  seas 
again,  where  I  have  dwelt  of  yore.  As  it 
rings  now  I  fancy  I  am  in  a  great  house,  built 
193 


194  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  coral  stone, — a  house  surrounded  by  broad 
verandas  and  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  grove 
of  cocoa-palms.  Just  across  a  dusty  lane  lies 
the  churchyard;  and  in  the  congregation  of 
the  departed  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  homely 
whitewashed  walls  of  the  old  missionary 
church.  As  the  bell  of  that  church  rings  out 
at  high  noon  the  pigeons  flutter  from  the 
eaves  of  the  old  church,  and  sail  to  and  fro 
as  if  half  afraid;  yet  this  flight  of  theirs, 
which  ends  with  the  last  note  of  the  bell — 
then  they  quietly  nestle  themselves  under  the 
eaves  once  more, — this  flight  of  theirs  seems 
to  be  a  part  of  the  service  that  is  renewed  from 
day  to  day. 

In  spirit  I  pace  again  those  winding  paths; 
I  meet  dark  faces  that  brighten  as  I  greet 
them;  I  hear  the  reef-music  blown  in  from 
the  summer  sea;  through  leafy  trellises  Hook 
into  the  watery  distance,  where  white  sails 
are  wafted  like  feathers  across  an  azure  sky, 
A  dry  and  floating  dust,  like  powdered  gold, 
glorifies  the  air.  The  vertical  sun  has  driven 
the  shadows  to  the  wall,  and  the  dry  pods  of 
the  tamarind  rattle  and  crackle  in  the  intense 
heat;  or  perhaps  a  cocoanu!,  drops  suddenly 
to  the  grass  with  a  dull  thud. 


AFTERGLOW  195 

A  vixenish  hornet  swaggers  in  at  the  win- 
dow, which  is  never  closed,  dangling  its  with- 
ered legs' — the  very  ghost  of  an  emaciated 
ballet-girl, — and  pirouettes  above  my  head, 
while  I  sit  statue-like,  breathlessly  -awaiting 
my  fate;  but — Oh  what  a  relief! — presently 
she  flirts  herself  out  of  the  window,  and  is 
gone. 

Do  you  think  that  nothing  transpires  in  this 
far-away  corner  of  the  world?  The  coolie 
who  brings  me  my  matutinal  cocoanut,  the 
cream  of  which  I  drink  from  the  tender  young 
shell  just  broken  for  me,  is  now  gathering 
fallen  leaves,  each  one  as  big  as  a  Panama 
hat;  they  have  covered  the  tennis-court  dur- 
ing the  night.  Do  you  often  see  such  a  sight 
as  that  ? 

Were  in  Honolulu — the  Tropical  Metrop- 
olis, you  know! — I  could  see  from  my  window 
as  of  yore  a  singularly  shaped  hill,  commonly 
called  Punch  Bowl.  'Twas  once  an  active 
volcano,  and  the  Punch  brewed  in  it  in  those 
days  was  not  good  for  lips  of  mortal  clay.  It 
has  been  empty  for  ages,  as  have  all  the  vol- 
canoes in  the  northern  islands  of  the  group; 
and  now  it  looms  above  the  sea  of  foliage  that 


196  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

engulfs  the  little  capital  like  an  island  in  the 
air.  There  is  a  fortress  up  yonder,  and  a 
winding  carriage  way  that  leads  from  the  edge 
of  the  town  to  the  summit,  and  girdles  that. 
Ah!  what  a  stretch  of  sea  and  shore  invites 
the  eye  as  one  skirts  the  rim  of  old  Punch 
Bowl!  And  in  the  twilight  one  is  up  among 
the  stars.  Punch  Bowl  has  baked  hard  in 
the  sun  through  all  these  ages;  it  is  for  the 
most  part  as  red  as  clay,  though  a  tinge  of 
green  in  its  rain-moistened  chinks  suggests 
those  bronzes  of  uncertain  antiquity.  'Tis 
really  an  ornamental  bit  of  nature's  bric-a- 
brac.  Above  it  roll  snow-white  trade-wind 
clouds,  those  commercial,  travelers  that  rush 
over  us  in  such  haste,  as  if  they  had  import- 
ant business  elsewhere.  Above  all  is  the 
profoundly  blue,  blue  sky,  within  whose  depths 
one  loses  one's  self  so  easily  and  feels  so  lone- 
some. 

I  like  better  to  picture  the  narrow  street  in 
my  old  neighborhood,  wherein  man  and  beast 
travel  amicably;  and  a  disconsolate  old  Kan- 
aka, done  up  in  a  shirt  or  a  sheet — it  makes 
very  little  difference  to  him  which  one  of  these 
is  his  covering, — settles  for  a  little  while 


AFTERGLOW  197 

wherever  it  may  please  him  to  halt,  and  there 
takes  about  three  whiffs   of  tobacco    from    a 
stubby,    black,    brass-bound,    wooden    pipe 
before     resuming    his    aimless    journey     to 
nowhere. 

Over  the  way  there  is  a  long,  low  rustic 
shed,  with  its  beams  hung  full  of  dead  ripe 
bananas;  on  a  little  bench  under  these  yellow 
pouches  of  creamy  pulp  lie  heaps  of  native 
watermelons,  looking  very  delicious  indeed. 
A  comely  native  girl,  with  an  uncombed  head 
— but  comely  for  all  that, — will  sell  you  her 
poorest  stores  with  a  grace  that  makes  the 
article  cheap  at  any  price. 

Just  beyond  my  window  wave  mango 
boughs,  heavily  fruited.  There  are  strange 
flowers  palpitating  in  the  sunshine,  covered 
thick  with  dust-pollen, — flowers  whose  ances- 
tors have  lived  and  died  in  Ceylon,  Java, 
Japan,  Madagascar,  and  all  those  far-away 
lands  that  make  a  boy's  mouth  water  in  study 
hours  as  he  pores  over  his  enchanted  atlas. 
Sinbad  had  thrilling  experiences  and  some 
hair-breadth  escapes  while  he  was  traveling 
correspondent  of  the  Daily  Arabian  Nights ; 
but  I  warrant  you  there  are  plenty  of  us  now- 


1 98  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

adays  who  would  risk  life  and  limb  for  a  tithe 
of  his  wonderful  adventures. 

I  hear  the  tramp  of  hoofs  upon  the  hard- 
baked  street;  horsemen  and  horsewomen  dash 
by, — the  men  sitting  limp  in  the  saddle  and 
seeming  almost  a  part  of  the  animal;  the 
women  riding  man-fashion,  like  Amazons,  and 
outriding  the  men  in  a  race. 

What  the  down  is  to  the  peach  so  is  the 
last  hour  of  sunset  to  the  tropical  day;  it  is 
the  finishing  touch  that  makes  perfect  the 
whole.  The  bell  has  just  struck  again,  and 
its  long  reverberating  note  seems  of  a  color 
with  the  picture  in  my  mind ; — a  bell  for  sun- 
set, it  is  the  Angelus  that  calls  me  back  again 
to  the  little  village  that  lies  half  asleep  over 
the  dreamy  sea. 

Just  fancy  a  long,  long  beach,  with  a  long, 
long  wave  rushing  upon  it  and  turning  a  reg- 
ular somersault,  all  spray  and  spangles,  just 
before  it  gets  there;  a  unique  lighthouse  at 
the  top  of  the  one  solitary  dock  where  the 
small  boats  land;  the  white  spires  of  two 
churches  at  the  two  ends  of  the  town,  and  a 
sprinkling  of  roofs  and  verandas  but  half  dis- 
covered in  the  confusion  of  green  boughs, — 


AFTERGLOW  I 99 

that  is  Lahaina  from  the  anchorage;  I  think 
it  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  whole  Hawaiian 
Kingdom. 

Let  us  hasten  shoreward.  Perhaps  we 
wonder  if  that  ridge  of  breakers  is  to  be 
climbed  in  safety?  Perhaps  we  look  with  a 
tinge  of  superstition  into  the  affairs  of  Laha- 
ina, questioning  if  it  be  really  the  abode  of 
men  in  the  flesh,  or  but  a  dream  wherein 
spirits  live  and  move  and  have  their  being? 

Ah!  we  are  speedily  awakened  by  the  boat- 
boy.  Great  is  the  boat-boy  of  Lahaina!  He 
is  agile  and  impudent  and  amphibious,  and 
altogether  comical.  He  has  carried  all  the 
population  of  Lahaina — some  two  or  three 
thousand — in  his  boat,  first  and  last.  He 
complacently  suns  himself  on  that  solitary 
wharf,  hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  patiently 
awaiting  a  fresh  arrival  and  a  renewal  of  bus- 
iness. Business  he  can  not  help  ranking 
before*  pleasure,  because  in  his  case  such  bus- 
iness is  the  most  pleasurable  of  his  pleasures. 

Happy,  thrice  happy  boat-boy !  He  poises 
himself  against  the  whitewash  of  the  wooden 
lighthouse  in  startling  relief;  he  recognizes 
you  the  moment  he  lays  eye  on  you,  in  spite 


200  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  your  week-old  beard  and  the  dilapidated 
state  of  your  traveling  suit;  with  the  utmost 
cordiality  he  hails  you  by  your  Christian  name 
—a  custom  of  the  country;  you  immediately 
fall  a  victim  to  his  wiles.  It  is  quite  impos- 
sible not  to  brave  the  sea  with  him  whether 
you  will  or  no;  for  he  is  the  embodiment  of 
presuming  good-nature,  and  you  are  as  wax 
under  the  influence  of  his  beaming  and  per- 
suasive smile.  The  finger  of  Time  doubles 
up  the  moment  it  points  toward  him;  he  is 
the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.  I 
can  lead  you  to  the  very  boat-boy  who  col- 
lared me  ages  ago,  I  am  sure  of  it;  he  must 
be  still  lying  in  wait  for  me, — not  a  day  older, 
not  a  particle  changed;  and  were  I  there  in 
the  flesh  as  I  am  there  in  the  spirit,  I  should 
expect  to  fall  into  his  hands  within  the  hour, 
and  should  instinctively  and  instantly  surren- 
der whatever  plans  I  may  have  cherished  with- 
out a  murmur  and  without  a  doubt. 

Ever  consistent  in  his  inconsistency,  won- 
derful are  the  ways  of  the  Kanaka.  I  am 
reminded  of  an  incident  which  occurred  within 
my  personal  knowledge.  A  Hawaiian  con- 
gregation having,  after  considerable  effort, 


AFTERGLOW  2OI 

succeeded  in  raising  money  enough  for  the 
purchase  of  a  large  bell,  called  a  meeting  of 
all  those  who  were  interested  in  church  mat- 
ters. You  may  be  sure  there  was  a  full 
attendance,  for  this  was  an  occasion  of  unusual 
importance.  The  new  bell,  paid  for  out  of 
the  donations  of  those  present,  was  hanging  in 
the  little  square  tower  of  the  church;  it  was 
rung  for  the  edification  of  the  people;  then 
two  of  the  most  popular  and  eloquent  debaters 
in  that  part  of  the  Kingdom  were  called  upon 
to  entertain  the  multitude  with  an  argument 
upon  the  respective  merits  of  the  bell  and  the 
conch-shell  which  was  formerly  in  general  use 
throughout  Hawaii. 

The  Hawaiians  are  never  weary  of  arguing; 
there  are  very  eloquent  and  witty  orators 
among  them;  they  are  fluent  speakers  and 
highly  emotional ;  they  share  tears  and  laughter 
in  a  breath.  The  champion  of  the  bell  arose. 
He  spoke  of  the  growth  and  development  of 
the  age  we  live  in;  of  the  propriety  of  keeping 
pace  with  said  age;  of  how  they,  as  a  nation, 
had  risen  out  of  the  darkness  of  superstition, 
and  were  now  called  upon  to  put  away  the 
childish  things  of  the  past.  The  Hawaiian 


2O2  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

orator  loves  to  refer  to  the  regeneration  of 
his  race,  the  broken  idols,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing;  this  is  Hawaiian  "Buncombe."  He 
did  not  forget  to  describe  the  singular  history 
of  the  bell,  tracing  it  from  the  ore  in  the  earth 
to  the  instrument  in  the  air.  He  would  have 
quoted  Schiller's  "Lay"  had  Schiller  been  a 
Hawaiian.  He  concluded  with  a  noble 
panegyric  on  the  silvery,  vibrating  voice  that 
should  henceforth  speak  to  them  of  prayer 
and  praise  in  most  persuasive  tones.  He 
ended  amid  a  tumult  of  applause;  it  looked 
bad  for  the  champion  of  the  conch. 

Then  the  -latter  arose.  Silent  was  the 
throng  that  gathered  about  him ;  his  pros- 
pects were  anything  but  encouraging.  After 
a  suitable  pause  he  began  to  speak  in  a  low 
mellow  voice,  that  at  once  attracted  attention. 
He  said  he  had  not  risen  to  praise  the  works 
of  man, — they  spoke  for  themselves  on  every 
possible  occasion;  he  came  to  speak  of  that 
slender,  delicate  structure,  framed  by  the 
hand  of  God  Himself,  whose  twining,  pearl- 
lined  pipe  responded  only  to  the  airs  of 
heaven.  Its  home  was  in  the  sea  at  their 
very  feet — a  beautiful  and  gracious  offering; 


AFTERGLOW  2O3 

it  was  ancient  as  the  earth.  What  could  be 
more  fitting  than  that  this  shell,  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  blue  waters,  should  whisper  to 
the  children  of  a  day  and  call  them  home  to 
God?  It  was  forever  singing;  it  was  forever 
haunted  by  the  spirit  of  song.  Would  they 
— 'Should  they — could  they  dash  aside  this 
exquisite  structure,  so  ancient,  so  unique,  so 
worthy  of  their  veneration?  It  was  a 
memento  of  the  past — God-given,  and  should 
be  gratefully  accepted.  While  all  other 
mementos  were  fast  perishing,  this  cried  to 
them  with  its  low,  sweet  moan.  Could  they 
be  deaf  to  its  melody?  Certainly  not;  it  was 
at  once  voted  that  the  conch  should  be  blown 
as  usual;  but,  inasmuch  as  the  new  bell  had 
been  bought  and  paid  for,  it  might  be  tinkled 
at  proper  intervals  if  the  bell-tinkler  felt  so 
disposed.  This  is  Hawaiian  to  the  core. 

At  six  this  evening  when  my  bell  rang  again 
I  was  transported  on  the  instant.  There  were 
long  and  very  cool  shadows  stretching  through 
the  little  tropical  village.  You  know,  at  dusk 
the  reef  is  stiller,  and  the  roar  sounds  faint 
and  far  off,  and  is  sometimes  altogether 
hushed.  The  pigeons  were  once  more  driven 


~C>4  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

from  their  home  in  the  belfry,  but  for  the  last 
time  to-day;  they  soon  returned,  and,  slowly 
and  decorously  waltzing  about  for  a  moment 
on  their  slender  pink  legs,  disappeared  within 
the  shelter  of  the  tower. 

Down  yonder,  at  this  hour  everyone  is  in 
his  easy-chair  smoking,  chatting  or  dreaming; 
there  comes  a  sudden  flash  across  the  twilight 
sky;  the  marsh  hens  begin  to  pipe  in  the 
rushes;  the  moths  hover  about  with  big  star- 
ing carnelian  eyes,  and  dash  frantically  at 
the  old-fashioned  astral-lamp  that  stands  on 
the  center-table  in  the  large  open  parlor.  The 
night  falls  suddenly;  the  air  grows  cool  and 
moist;  a  great  golden  star  darts  from  its 
sphere  and  sails  through  the  dewy-dark,  leav- 
ing a  wake  of  fire. 

O  Lahaina!  my  Lahaina!  I  am  reminded 
of  some  verses  I  once  made  upon  you  years 
and  years  ago.  I  think  they  ran  as  follows: 

LAHAINA. 

Where  the  wave  tumbles; 
Where  the  reef  rumbles; 
Where  the  sea  sweeps 

Under  bending  palm-branches, 
Sliding  its  snow-white 

And  swift  avalanches 


AFTERGLOW 

Where  the  sails  pass 
O'er  an  ocean  of  glass. 

Or  trail  their  dull  anchors 
Down  in  the  sea-grass. 

Where  the  hills  smoulder; 

Where  the  plains  smoke; 
Where  the  peaks  shoulder 

The  clouds  like  a  yoke; 
Where  the  dear  isle, 
Has  a  charm  to  beguile 

As  she  rests  in  the  lap 
Of  the  seas  that  enfold  her. 

Wher.e  shadows  falter; 
Where  the  mist  hovers 
Like  steam  that  covers. 

Some  ancient  altar. 

Where  the  sky  rests 
On  deep  wooded  crests; 

Where  the  clouds  lag; 
Where  the  sun  floats 
His  glittering  motes 
Swimming  the  rainbows 

That  girdle  the  crag, 
Where  the  newcomer 
In  deathless  summer 

Dreams  away  troubles; 
Where  the  grape  blossoms 

And  blows  its  sweet  bubbles, 

Where  the  goats  cry 

From  the  hillside  carrel; 

Where  the  fish  leap 
In  the  weedy  canal 


205 


2O6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

In  the  hallow  lagoon 

With  its  waters  forsaken; 
Where  the  dawn  struggles 

With  night  for  an  hour. 
Then  breaks  like  a  tropical 

Bird  from  its  bower. 

Where  from  the  long  leaves 

The  fresh  dew  is  shaken; 
Where  the  wind  sleeps, 

And  where  the  birds  waken. 

Ah  me!  Again  and  yet  again,  ah  me! 
Will  they  rob  these  gentle  people  of  their 
birthright  and  their  crown?  Protect  them 
certainly:  they  need  protection.  They  have 
been  at  the  mercy  of  unscrupulous  whites  ever 
since  the  days  of  that  old  pirate  Captain 
Cook.  He  began  it,  and  the  whalers  con- 
tinued it,  and  the  scheming  politicians  have 
concluded  it.  It  is  an  ungodly  record,  but 
such  an  one  as  the  white  man  is  apt  to  make 
whenever  he  finds  himself  among  those  who 
are  unacquainted  with  his  wiles.  They  need 
protection  in  Hawaii.  America  is  the  natural 
godfather  of  the  Kingdom.  Let  America 
protect  them — but  annex  them, never! 

Is  it  that  bell,  again,  and  rings  it  with  a 
more  hopeful  tone?  I  pray  it  may  be  so. 
And  here  end  these  memories  of  a  precious 


AFTERGLOW  2O/ 

past.  Oh  Island  Home!  made  sacred  by  a 
birth  and  by  a  death;  haunted  by  sweet  and 
solemn  memories.  What  if  thy  rocking  palm 
boughs  are  as  muffled  music  and  thy  reef  a 
dirge?  Please  Heaven,  the  joy-bells  that 
have  rung  in  the  happy  past  shall  ring  again 
in  the  hopeful  future,  and  life  once  more  grow 
rosy  in  the  radiance  of  the  afterglow. 


XXIX. 

ON  THE  REEF. 

upon  a  time — it  was  on  one  of  those 
nights  when  without  apparent  reason  the 
spirit  of  mortal  is  rilled  with  vague  unrest  — 
I  strode  into  the  starlight  and  sought  with  a 
kind  of  desperation  the  least  frequented 
paths,  such  as  lead  away  out  of  the  borders 
of  the  town  toward  the  shadowy  hills. 

On  such  a  night  the  superstitious  note 
with  awe  the  faintest  articulation,  and  too 
often  attribute  the  least  sound  to  a  super- 
natural cause.  I  remember  that  the  hedges 
seemed  to  shudder  at  intervals  and  shadows 
to  move  noiselessly  before  me,  while  the  water 
that  trickled  in  the  shallow  stream  muttered 
a  refrain  that  was  almost  like  human  speech. 

When  I  stumbled  in  the  darkness  I  was 
vexed,  and  the  still  air,  heavily  charged  with 
electricity,  was  irritating  and  aggressive. 

I  had  got  beyond  the  reach  of   voices,  as  I 

208 


ON   THE    REEF  2O9 

thought,  and  was  groping  in  the  deep  shade 
of  clustering  kamani  trees,  when  a  dull  mur- 
mur, like  the  drone  of  the  hive,  fell  upon  my 
ear.  I  paused  to  listen.  The  crickets  were 
chirping  bravely,  the  rill  fell  with  a  hollow 
note  into  the  pool  below,  and  from  far  away 
came  the  solemn  suspiration  of  the  sea. 

Then  I  saw  a  light  dimly  flickering  among 
the  branches  in  the  path  and  I  advanced  with 
some  caution,  for  I  was  in  no  mood  to 
discover  myself  to  any  one  in  that  seeming 
solitude. 

A  few  paces  distant  stood  a  rude  grass  hut 
such  as  the  Hawaiian  formerly  inhabited,  but 
which,  alas,  has  been  suffered  to  fall  into  dis- 
use. A  door,  its  only  aperture,  stood  open. 
Upon  a  broad,  flat  stone  within  the  center  of 
the  hut  flamed  a  handful  of  faggots,  and  over 
these  bowed  the  withered  forms  of  two  vener- 
able Hawaiians,  who  may  have  been  the  last 
representatives  of  the  ancient  race.  They 
were  squatted  upon  their  lean  haunches,  their 
fleshless  arms  were  extended,  their  claw-like 
fingers  clasped  above  the  flames.  They  were 
both  nude,  and  the  light  that  played  about 
them  exaggerated  their  wrinkles  so  that  the 


2IO  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

face  of  each — I  say  it  in  all  seriousness — re- 
sembled a  baked  apple.  They  were  chanting 
in  turn  one  of  those  weird  meles,  now  sel- 
dom heard  and  soon  to  be  utterly  forgotten. 
Their  thin  voices  gathered  strength  as  they 
recounted  the  triumphs  of  departed  heroes  and 
the  glory  that  has  passed  forever.  The  quiv- 
ering voices  were  at  times  blended,  and  the 
ancient  bards  locked  in  a  tremulous  embrace; 
but  at  last,  profoundly  agitated,  while  the 
tears  coursed  their  hollow  cheeks,  they  folded 
their  arms  above  their  bowed  foreheads,  and 
shaken  with  tremors,  rocked  to  and  fro  in 
the  fading  firelight  and  were  dumb. 

They  were  bewailing  the  fate  of  their  people 
— a  fate  that  in  very  many  respects  is  to  be 
deplored.  Never  again  can  aught  be  made 
of  them,  for  their  doom  is  accomplished. 
And  how?  We  shall  see. 

> 
Years    ago    I   sat    under   the    eaves    of   a 

grass  house  which  stood  upon  this  sand-dune 
and  looked  out  upon  the  reef  as  I  am  looking 
now;  the  afternoon  was  waning;  the  wind, 
that  had  for  hours  been  whirling  the  fine 
sand  in  eddies  around  the  corner  of  the 


ON    THE    REEF  211 

house,  began  to  fail,  and  the  sea,  with  all 
its  waves,  subsided  upon  the  reef.  It  was 
as  if  the  little  island  world  was  about  to  com- 
pose itself  in  sleep;  on  the  contrary,  we  were 
but  beginning  to  recover  from  the  inertia  in- 
duced by  the  tireless  activity  of  the  elements. 

On  my  lap  lay  the  only  volume  I  was  able 
to  discover  in  the  vicinity,  an  ill-used  copy  of 
the  "Evidences  of  Christianity."  How  it 
came  into  the  possession  of  Pilikia,  my  host,  I 
know  not,  but  that  he  had  found  it  of  great 
service  was  evident.  At  least  half  of  the 
pages  had  already  been  disposed  of  and  the 
remnant — a  catacomb  of  white  ants  and  such 
other  vermin  as  affect  literature  in  the  tropics 
— was  sure  to  follow  in  due  course. 

Pilikia  politely  offered  me  this  precious 
volume  at  an  early  stage  of  our  acquaintance, 
for  we  were  quite  unable  to  communicate  with 
one  another,  he  being  stone  deaf  and  I  as 
good  as  dumb  in  those  days.  The  truth  is, 
I  was  awaiting  the  return  of  Kane  Pihi,  the 
man-fish,  with  whom  I  proposed  to  pass  a 
night  upon  the  reef  practicing  the  art  which 
had  already  distinguished  him  and  had  won 
for  him  the  admiration  and  the  envy  of  his 
fellow-craftsmen. 


212  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Anon  I  closed  the  volume  with  decision; 
the  evidences  were  incomplete,  and  I  was 
impatient  for  the  arrival  of  the  man-fish,  who 
was  certainly  more  interesting  than  the  anti- 
quated specimen  of  humanity  who  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  hut,  like  an  idol,  and  whose 
blue-black,  weather-beaten  figure-head  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  carved  out  of  a  walrus'  tusk 
and  smoked. 

I  arose  impetuously,  shook  off  my  ennui 
and  strolled  along  the  beach.  There  was  a 
joyous  sparkle  upon  the  sea;  little  windy 
waves  slid  up  the  sloping  sands,  curled  crisply 
and  retired  in  a  white  litter  of  explosive  bub- 
bles; diminutive  crabs  rushed  pell-mell  before 
my  feet;  at  intervals  I  felt  the  sting  of  the 
ilying  sand,  but  the  heat  and  the  burden  of 
the  day  were  about  over  and  I  began  to  lift 
up  my  heart,  when  in  the  hollow  of  the  shore, 
sheltered  only  by  sand  ridges,  I  saw  a  dark 
object  stretched  motionless  at  full  length. 
Flotsam  or  jetsam,  the  prize  was  mine,  and 
I  hastened  forward.  It  was  a  youth  just  out 
of  his  teens,  a  slim,  sleek  creature,  uncon- 
scious, unclad,  sprawled  inartistically,  absorb- 
ing sunshine  and  apparently  steeped  to  the 


ON    THE    REEF  213 

toes   in    it;   it    was    Kane  Pihi,  the    man-fish 
stark  asleep. 

Retiring  a  little  distance,  I  tossed  a  pebble 
upon  his  motionless  body;  then  another  and 
another,  and  finally  a  whole  handful  of  them. 
At  last  he  turned,  with  a  serpentine  move- 
ment, lifting  his  head  like  a  lizard,  swaying 
it  slowly  to  and  fro  and  looking  listlessly  upon 
the  sand  and  the  sea.  When  he  espied  me 
he  coiled  his  limbs  under  him  and  was  con- 
vulsed with  riotous  laughter. 
•  I  approached  him  and  exhausted  my  vocab- 
ulary in  five  minutes,  but  I  learned  meanwhile 
that  the  fellow  had  been  lying  there  on  the 
hot  sand  in  the  blazing  sun  for  a  good  portion 
of  the  day,  and  that  now  he  was  ready  to  eat. 
Two  things  on  earth  were  necessary  to  the 
existence  of  this  superior  animal — to  eat  and 
to  sleep;  but  for  pleasure  and  profit,  for  life 
and  all  that  makes  it  liveable,  the  man-fish 
sought  the  waters  under  the  earth.  He  was 
amphibious. 

Pilikia — born  to  trouble,  as  his  name 
implies,  and  like  all  who  are  never  out  of  it, 
living  to  the  age  of  the  prophets—Pilikia  still 
sat  in  his  corner  when  we  returned  to  the 


214  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

grass  house,  but  upon  the  appearance  of 
Kane-Pihi,  the  apple  of  his  eye,  the  child  of 
his  old  age,  peradventure,  his  face  changed 
suddenly,  as  if  about  to  weep.  This  simula- 
tion of  tearless  agony  was  his  method  of 
showing  joy.  The  range  of  facial  expression 
had  grown  limited  with  him  and  he  now 
seemed  to  be  gradually  assuming  the  fixed, 
blank  stare  of  the  dead.  Pilikia  crawled  out 
of  his  obscurity  and  we  all  gathered  about  a 
calabash  of  poi  in  the  door  of  the  hut  as  the 
sun  shot  suddenly  into  the  sea. 

Kane-Pihi  began  to  awaken  as  the  twilight 
deepened;  his  eyes — he  had  bronze  eyes,  that 
were  opaque  in  the  sunshine — grew  limpid 
and  lustrous;  he  began  to  search  the  wave 
as  if  he  could  pluck  from  it  the  heart  of  its 
mystery.  Perhaps  he  could;  perhaps  its  color 
and  texture  imparted  to  him  secrets  unknown 
to  us.  Now  and  again  he  sang  to  himself 
fragments  of  mclcs  that  sounded  like  invoca- 
tions and  added  sacredness  to  an  hour  exqui- 
sitely beautiful  and  pathetic. 

The  sea  advanced  and  retreated  noiselessly 
along  the  shelving  sand ;  each  wavelet,  unroll- 
ing like  a  scroll,  told  its  separate  story  and 


ON   THE    REEF  2  I  5 

was  withdrawn  into  the  deep.  For  a  moment 
the  shore  was  glossed  where  the  waters  had 
passed  over  it,  but  this  varnish  immediately 
grew  clouded,  like  a  mirror  that  has  been 
breathed  upon,  and  then  vanished,  leaving 
only  a  dark  shadow  in  the  moist  sand.  Long, 
luminous  bars  lay  upon  the  more  distant 
water,  and  beyond  these  the  rough  edges  of 
the  reef,  now  exposed  to  the  air,  were  lightly 
powdered  with  filmy  and  prismatic  spray.  It 
was  dark  when  v/e  set  forth  in  Kane-Pihi's 
canoe.  Pilikia,  who  also  revived  under  the 
beneficent  influence  of  the  stars,  followed  us 
to  the  water's  edge  and  even  made  a  feint  of 
aiding  us  in  the  launch  of  our  canoe.  Our 
course  lay  down  the  coast,  within  the  reef. 
We  might  easily  have  waded  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  lagoon  but  for  the 
shoals  of  sharp  coral  and  the  jagged  hills 
among  them,  of  which  I  knew  nothing,  though 
each  coral  prong  was  familiar  to  the  man- 
fish,  it  having  been  his  chief  end  to  chart  every 
inch  of  the  lagoon  at  an  early  stage  in  his 
career. 

Oh,  heavenly  night!     We  floated  upon    an 
element  that  seemed    a    denser    atmosphere; 


2l6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

this  delicious  air  was  like  the  spirit  of  God 
moving  upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  We 
were  both  silent,  for  the  earth  and  sea  were 
silent,  but  now  and  again  we  heard  a  "glug" 
under  our  bow,  where  a  bewildered  fish  had 
swum  into  the  air  by  mistake  and  dived  back 
in  dismay. 

The  mysterious  voyage  filled  me  with  a  kind 
of  awe,  such  as  a  surprised  soul  might  feel  after 
sudden  death,  upon  finding  itself  propelled 
slowly  across  the  Styx  by  an  almost  invisible 
Charon.  In  this  mood  we  rounded  the  lagoon, 
and  lo,  the  sea  radiant  with  flaming  torches 
and  peopled  by  a  race  of  shadowy  fishers- 
bronzed,  naked,  statuesque.  The  superb 
spectacle  inspired  Kane-Pihi;  with  an  excla- 
mation of  delight  he  plunged  his  paddle  into 
the  water  and  a  half  dozen  vigorous  strokes 
brought  us  where  he  was  at  once  recognized 
and  received  with  every  demonstration  of 
affection. 

In  the  charmed  circle  all  things  were  trans- 
formed; the  earth  and  the  very  stars  were 
forgotten;  the  sea  was  like  wine,  ripples  of 
perfume  played  upon  its  surface;  the  torches 
above  it  were  imaged  in  the  water  below, 


ON    THE    REEF  2I/ 

where  the  coral  glowed  resplendently  and  the 
bewildered  fish  darted  to  their  doom  in  basket- 
nets  or  at  the  point  of  the  glancing  spear. 
The  fishers  were  for  the  most  part  dumb  as 
statues;  with  a  thousand  exquisite  poses  they 
searched  the  luminous  depths  for  the  fleet 
prey  that  shone  like  momentary  sunbeams  and 
were  as  speedily  captured  and  transferred  to 
their  canoes.  In  this  graceful  art  the  women, 
costumed  like  fabled  sea-nymphs,  were  as  skill- 
ful as  the  men,  and  even  when  we  had  drifted 
in  the  shallows,  and  they,  descending  into  the 
sea,  were  wandering  apart  each  with  a  torch 
in  one  hand,  a  net  in  the  other  and  a  sack 
hanging  upon  the  hip,  they  were  as  fearless 
and  as  active  as  the  best  man  among  "them. 
But  this  kind  of  fishing  was  mere  child's  play 
in  the  eyes  of  Kane-Pihi  and  only  the  diver- 
sion of  a  night. 

Hour  after  hour  the  flotilla  dazzled  upon 
the  tideless  lagoon;  it  was  only  when  the 
waters  seemed  to  have  been  robbed  of  their 
last  vestige  of  finny  life  that  we  separated  and 
soared  like  meteors  into  outer  darkness. 
Then  I  became  conscious  of  fatigue,  and 
throwing  myself  upon  a  mat  in  the  corner  of 


2l8  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Pili Ida's  grass  house  I  slept  while  Kane-Pihi 
sang  into  the  dawn. 

In  those  days  a  barren  plain,  relieved  here 
and  there  by  stretches  of  salt-marsh  land,  lay 
between  the  fishing  grounds  and  the  seaport. 
It  was  seldom  that  Kane-Pihi  entered  the 
town.  A  gentle  savage,  whose  childhood  had 
been  passed  upon  the  shore  of  the  least  civil- 
ized of  the  islands  of  the  group,  his  uncon- 
ventional life  had  scarcely  fitted  him  for  any- 
thing so  confining  as  a  pavement  or  a  trim 
garden  spot,  hedged  or  fenced  about  in  indi- 
vidual exclusiveness. 

He  had  lounged  in  the  fish  market,  where 
his  fame  had  preceded  him,  but  the  clamoring 
crowd  soon  drove  him  forth,  and  when  he 
had  sat  for  an  hour  in  silent  contemplation  of 
the  street  traffic,  he  strode  soberly  back  to 
the  hut  on  the  sand-dunes  and  dreamed  away 
the  disgust  with  which  such  method  and 
industry  invariably  inspired  him. 

We  sat  together  one  morning  looking  far 
off  upon  the  town  and  far  off  upon  the  sea  in 
comfortable  idleness.  We  had  hoped  for  a 
change  in  the  spirit  of  our  dream  and  it  came 
presently,  for  it  was  observed  that  a  school  of 


ON    THE    REEF  219 

fish  was  making  for  the  shore.  In  an  instant 
several  canoes  were  slid  into  the  water  and  a 
dozen  excited  natives  went  in  hot  pursuit  of 
the  spoil. 

Before  the  day  of  dynamite  deep-sea  fishing 
was  an  art  in  which  few  excelled,  but  with 
Kane-Pihi  it  was  a  specialty,  and  when  we 
had  weathered  the  breakers  and  were  out 
upon  the  swell  beyond  the  reef,  he  dropped 
a  handful  of  bait  into  the  water  and  watched 
it  as  it  slowly  sank;  then  he  cautiously 
climbed  out  of  the  canoe  and  with  fearless 
resignation  sank  after  it.  It  was  as  if  he 
were  braving  all  the  laws  of  nature — as  if  he 
were  defying  death  itself.  - 

Breathlessly  I  watched  him  as  he  sank  feet 
foremost  into  the  depths;  I  saw  his  motion- 
less body  slowly  descending,  growing  dimmer 
in  outline  all  the  while;  I  saw  the  fish  circling 
suspiciously  about  him,  attracted  by  the  bait, 
which  they  were  greedily  devouring,  and  evi- 
dently filled  with  curiosity  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  man-fish  in  their  midst,  who,  like  a  corpse, 
was  fading  in  the  horrible  obscurity  of  the 
sea;  then,  at  the  moment  when  it  seemed  that 
life  must  have  deserted  him,  with  a  sudden 


220  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

lunge  he  buried  a  knife  in  the  body  of  a  huge 
fish  and  rose  like  a  water-wraith  out  of  the 
waves.  It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  only, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  an  age  since  I  had  seen 
the  sea  close  over  him. 

Several  times  he  repeated  the  act  success- 
fully, and  it  became  difficult  to  see  through 
the  blood-stained  water,  but  by  moving  the 
canoes  cautiously  from  point  to  point,  we  still 
kept  within  reach  of  the  shoal  and  avoided 
the  crimson  cloud  that  marked  the  scene  of 
Kane-Pihi's  recent  marine  combat.  A  highly 
successful  catch  was  the  reward  of  his  prowess, 
and  with  our  canoe  well  laden,  we  headed  for 
the  shore. 

Those  who  were  watching  us  from  the  beach 
must  have  lost  sight  of  us  at  intervals  as  we 
rose  and  sank  upon  the  rollers.  Sometimes 
the  comber  that  broke  between  us  and  the 
land  looked  like  a  precipitated  avalanche  of 
snow,  and  the  mass  behind  us  swelled  and 
burst,  darting  forward  with  an  impetuosity 
that  threatened  the  destruction  of  our  frail 
craft.  But  into  the  wilderness  of  this  tumult- 
uous sea  it  was  Kane-Pihi's  intention  to 
venture,  and  through  the  midst  of  it  lay  our 


ON    THE    REEF  221 

perilous  course.  With  a  paddle  that  was 
never  at  rest,  we  hovered  upon  the  outer 
edges  of  the  reef,  hastening  over  the  brow  of 
a  billow  before  it  broke,  for  it  was  only  upon 
the  bosom  of  one  of  these  monsters  that  we 
could  hope  for  safety,  and  the  one  had  not 
yet  arrived.  Like  a  bird's  pinion,  the  paddle 
held  us  poised — suspended  in  mid-air,  I  had 
almost  written — until,  with  an  impulse  which 
was  an  inspiration,  Kane-Pihi  plowed  the  sea 
with  swift,  impetuous  strokes.  I  felt  the 
canoe  leap  forward  before  a  wave  that 
seemed  rising  to  overwhelm  us;  we  rose 
with  it,  on  the  inner  slope  of  it,  just  out  of 
reach  of  the  torrent  of  foam  that  hissed  and 
roared  behind  us.  How  we  sped  onward 
in  that  mad  chase!  The  very  canoe  seemed 
instilled  with  life;  nervous  tremors  seized  it; 
it  was  almost  as  if  some  invisible  power  were 
about  to  sweep  it  from  under  us;  so  fast  it 
iied  over  the  oily  slope  of  the  huge  wave,  at 
the  top  of  which  tumbled  a  world  of  foam — 
and  thus,  with  hardly  so  much  as  a  stroke  of 
the  paddle,  after  we  were  well  settled  on  the 
down  grade,  we  sprang  like  a  flying- fish  into 
the  tranquil  waters  of  the  lagoon  and  then 


222  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

turned  to  one  another  with  a  half-gasp,  as  if 
we  had  been  delivered  from  sudden  death. 

This  was  the  life  of  the  man-fish;  if  he  had 
been  upset  in  the  breakers  he  would  have 
come  to  shore  none  the  worse  for  it,  but  my 
blood  would  have  stained  the  reef  for  a 
moment  and  my  bones  found  coral  sepulture. 

Thus  he  played  with  the  elements — having 
not  so  much  vanity  as  a  child,  nor  so  much 
wisdom  either,  though  he  was  weather  wise, 
knew  all  about  the  moods  of  the  wind  and 
waves,  could  do  everything  but  shape  them — 
and  there  I  left  him  to  sleep  away  the  hot 
hours  in  the  hot  sun  and  sand;  to  eat  when 
he  listed  and  wait  upon  the  turning  of  the 
tides,  or  the  advent  of  those  fishy  episodes 
that  were  events  in  his  life;  a  perfectly  con- 
stituted creature,  whose  highest  ambition  he 
could  himself  satisfy  at  almost  any  moment; 
who,  I  venture  to  affirm,  never  did  harm  to 
any  one,  and  who  unquestionably  was,  in  his 
line,  a  complete  and  unqualified  success — in 
brief,  a  perfect  human  animal, who  was  doing 
in  his  own  way  and  in  his  own  good  time  what 
he  could  towards  destroying  the  last  vestiges 
of  the  "Evidences  of  Christianity." 


ON    THE    REEF  223 

In  revisiting  an  inconsiderable  community 
nothing  is  more  natural  than  for  one  to  pick 
up  the  threads  where  they  were  dropped  and 
then  seek  to  work  out  the  story  of  the  lives  of 
those  with  whom  he  has  been  associated  in 
former  years,  and  in  this  wise  I  was  busy 
enough  for  some  weeks  upon  my  return  to 
Honolulu. 

I  soon  began  to  familiarize  myself  with  all 
that  had  transpired  in  the  intervening  decade, 
and  was  making  lazy  pilgrimages  to  various 
points  of  interest,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that 
the  prison  was  still  unvisited. 

In  the  delectable  kingdom  of  which  I  write 
the  law-breakers  in  former  times  were  con- 
demned to  a  period  of  servitude  upon  the 
reef.  There,  at  low  water,  they  hewed  out 
the  coral  blocks,  of  which  many  of  the  early 
buildings  were  constructed,  and  to  this  day  a 
convict  is  spoken  of  as  being  "on  the  reef," 
although  coral  has  given  place  to  brick  and 
stone  and  timber,  and  the  reef  is  compara- 
tively deserted. 

At  once,  or  as  nearly  on  the  instant  as  one 
ever  gets  in  an  easy-going  land,  I  made  appli- 
cation at  the  gate  of  the  neatest,  coziest, 


224  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

cleanest  and  most  cheerful  House  of  Correc- 
tion in  the  world.  In  form  and  color  only  is 
it  outwardly  severe,  and  even  this  is  the  kind 
of  severity  affected  by  those  suburban  resi- 
dents who  build  angular,  gray  monuments  of 
masonry  and  inhabit  them  in  an  uncomfortably 
mediaeval  frame  of  mind.  It  stands  upon  a 
coral  ridge  and  is  almost  surrounded  by  fish- 
ponds, mud-flats  and  salt-marshes.  It  is 
approached  by  a  well-kept,  but  unsheltered, 
coral-dusted  drive,  that  glares  in  the  sunshine 
and  moonlight  as  if  to  magnify  the  shadow  of 
him  who  is  being  led  away  captive,  or  to  cast 
a  glory  about  the  feet  of  the  one  who  is  set 
free.  I  knocked  with  a  knocker  surrounded 
by  a  British  lion  in  bronze,  the  gate  was 
immediately  opened  by  a  native  guard  in  a 
dark  uniform,  who,  like  all  natives  in  dark 
uniforms,  looked  exceedingly  stuffy  and 
uncomfortable.  I  asked  leave  to  enter.  He 
seemed  to  think  I  had  done  him  a  favor  and 
honor  in  calling,  upon  such  a  very  warm  day, 
and  at  once  waved  me  gracefully  across  a 
court  that  was  as  trim  and  complete  as  a 
modern  stage  setting  for  an  act  in  a  society 
drama.  There  was,  I  confess,  a  superfluity 


ON    THE    REEF  22$ 

of  very  neat  stonework  in  wall  and  pavement, 
but  there  were  flower  plots  quite  like  stage 
flower  plots  and  a  moderate  perspective, 
which  seemed  heightened  by  exaggerated  fore- 
shortening, all  of  which  was  at  once  quite 
evident  to  the  naked  eye. 

Other  guards,  perched  in  picturesque  nooks 
and  corners,  smiled  a  welcome  as  I  advanced. 
The  original  stuffed  one,  who  had  backed 
mechanically  into  his  little  sentry-box  out  of 
the  sun,  was  also  smiling,  and  smiling  very 
broadly  for  a  man  on  serious  duty. 

Might  I  come  in  and  inspect  the  prison? 
Assuredly.  Would  I  only  be  good  enough  to 
look  at  everything,  see  everybody,  go  every- 
where and  then  graciously  inscribe  my  name 
in  the  finest  of  visitors'  books,  with  the  very 
whitest  of  paper  and  a  very  brave  array  of 
signatures?  I  went  in  and  out,  up  and  down, 
over  and  across  and  back  again.  The  valley 
of  Rasselas  could  not  have  been  more  peace- 
ful than  was  the  inner  court  of  that  island 
jail,  with  its  spreading  kamani  tree  in  the 
midst  thereof.  The  keeper  apologized  for  the 
smallness  of  his  family  at  the  moment;  he 
begged  to  assure  me  that  there  were  more 


226  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

than  I  found  present;  that  the  house  was 
always  full;  those  whom  I  saw  were  the  lame, 
the  halt  and  the  blind;  the  able-bodied  were 
all  out  at  work  on  the  road,  clad  in  garments 
of  two  colors — half  and  half — like  a  chorus  in 
Boccaccio,  at  the  expense  of  the  Government. 

If  those  of  the  infirmary,  sunning  them- 
selves in  the  court,  were  so  merry,  what  must 
be  the  state  of  the  able-bodied,  thought  I.  I 
had  seen  detachments  of  them  at  their  work 
— work  which  they  evidently  did  not  take  to 
heart,  but,  on  the  contrary,  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  somewhat  tedious  joke. 

While  I  was  absorbed  in  the  legends  of  the 
local  museum,  illustrated  with  celebrated 
shackles, bits  of  hangman's  rope, blood-stained 
implements  of  destruction  and  a  whole  rogue's 
gallery  of  interesting  criminals,  there  was  a 
sound  of  revelry,  and  lo !  the  prisoners  who 
had  had  their  outing  were  returning  joyously 
to  this  haven  of  rest,  and  some  of  them  with- 
out a  keeper.  Chief  among  the  Ishmaelitish 
crew  was  one  who  wore  his  prison  garb  jaun- 
tily, who  betrayed  a  tendency  to  good-natured 
bravado  and  who  kept  his  fellows  in  a  roar. 
The  Warden  presently  claimed  my  attention 


ON    THE    REEF  22? 

and  told  me  something  of  the  prisoner's  his- 
tory. He  had  been  reared  among  primitive 
people;  was  superstitious,  ingenious,  confid- 
ing; knew  little  or  nothing  of  foreign  ways 
and  manners  and  cared  little  to  hear  of  them. 
The  simplicity  of  his  life  assured  his  perpet  - 
ual  happiness,  but  of  course  there  was  no 
hope  of  his  development — he  must  forever 
remain  contented  with  his  lot  and  perish  like 
the  beast  of  the  field,  if  nature  were  to  take 
her  course;  but  nature  was  not  permitted  to 
take  her  course — she  seldom,  or  never,  is 
nowadays. 

An  itinerant  evangelist  arrived  in  Honolulu 
and  began  his  work.  The  Hawaiian  is  nothing 
if  not  emotional.  You  may  rouse  him  to  the 
pitch  of  frenzy,  and  he  will  subside  without 
having  achieved  anything  more  than  a  thrill; 
but  the  thrill  is  very  much  to  him  and  is 
worth  striving  for.  The  natives  became  as 
wax  in  the  presence  of  this  magnetic  exhorter. 
Prayer  meetings  were  held  night  and  day. 
There  was  a  corner  in  new  Testaments  and 
hymn-books.  Prophets — whether  true  or 
false  you  will  decide  for  yourselves  —arose  in 
numbers,  and  the  Scriptures  were  very  freely 


228  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

interpreted.  Yet,  if  out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklings  cometh  forth  wisdom,  it 
may  be  that  these  dark  ones  were  wiser 
in  that  day  than  the  children  of  light. 
Natives  were  gathering  from  far  and  near, 
attracted  by  the  rumors  which  surcharged  the 
atmosphere  and  by  the  "messenger  of  the 
lord,"  who  ran  to  and  fro  gathering  the  lost 
sheep  into  the  fold  of  Kaumakapili,  This 
youth  who,  while  we  discussed  him,  was 
regaling  the  prisoners  in  the  courtyard  with  a 
hula-hula,  was  finally  seduced  into  the  town 
and  ultimately  into  the  fold. 

Kamakapili,  whatever  may  be  said  of  its 
evasive  order  of  architecture,  has  a  reputation 
established  beyond  question,  and  the  evening 
meetings  held  in  that  trysting-place  are  ever 
popular  with  the  young.  Hither  came  this 
child  of  nature,  and  here,  listening  to  the 
experiences  most  eloquently  detailed  of  those 
who  had  turned  from  the  error  of  their  ways 
and  found  salvation  under  the  eaves  of  Kau- 
makapili, he  in  his  turn  repented — of  what  it 
is  not  easy  to  conjecture — and  was  baptized. 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  native  modesty  of 
the  Hawaiian,  and  of  all  unclad  races,  is 


ON    THE    REEF 


extinguished  the  moment  they  are  slipped 
under  cover.  They  put  on  vice  as  a  garment 
and  with  knowledge  comes  the  desire  for  evil; 
so  when  Kane-Pihi  got  into  foreign  clothing 
he  straightway  began  to  backslide.  He  picked 
up  bits  of  English,  grew  sharp  at  a  bargain, 
learned  to  lie  a  little  when  necessary,  and  to 
cheat  now  and  again.  He  took  that  which 
was  not  his,  not  because  he  meant  to  defraud 
the  owner  of  it,  but  because  he  needed  it  him- 
self, and  finding  it  in  his  way  laid  hands  on  it. 
This  he  used  to  do  before  he  knew  it  was  a 
sin,  and  in  those  days  he  expected  you  to 
take  of  his  possessions  in  like  manner  accord- 
ing to  your  need,  but  now  there  was  a  new 
pleasure  in  doing  it  —  the  excitement  of  secrecy 
added  an  interest  to  the  act  which  he  had 
never  until  this  hour  known.  God  pity  him! 
Many  and  various  experiences  sharpened  the 
convert's  wits,  and  he  became  one  of  the 
cleverest  boys  in  town  —  one  on  whom  its 
mild-eyed  constabulary  bent  loving  glances; 
but  his  career  was  shortened,  for  having  shat- 
tered one  of  the  commandments  —  the  only 
one  of  the  ten  whose  number  shall  be  name- 
less —  he  was  arrested,  tried,  convicted,  and 


230  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

was  now  serving  out  his  time  with  charming 
abandon.  His  story  touched  me,  though  it 
was  not  without  parallel  in  the  kingdom. 
There,  indeed,  it  is  an  oft-told  tale. 

We  descended  into  the  courtyard,  where 
the  young  rascal  was  beguiling  his  fellows, 
and  I  saw  (I  had  suspected  it)  that  he  was 
none  other  than  my  young  friend  of  yore  com- 
pletely transformed  by  civilization — in  other 
words,  Kane-Pihi,  the  man-fish,  out  of  his 
element.  We  had  a  few  moments1  conversa- 
tion; these  few  were  sufficient  to  convince 
me  that  his  case  was  hopeless.  He  could 
never  again  return  to  the  life  which  he  was 
born  to  and  in  which  it  seemed  that  he  could 
do  no  guile,  for  those  with  whom  he  was  asso- 
ciated were  as  guileless  as  he,  and  they  were 
alike  subject  to  no  temptations  and  no  snares  ; 
but  he  must  now  go  on  to  the  bitter  end,  for 
he  had  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  and 
fallen  in  its  shade. 

As  for  the  ancient  Pilikia,  it  vizs  pau  pilikia 
with  him ;  his  troubles  were  over.  When  he 
saw  the  fate  of  his  idol  and  that  no  pleading 
and  no  incantation  could  bring  the  lad  to  his 
right  mind,  the  old  man  turned  his  face  to 


ON    THE    REEF  231 

the  wall  and  gave  up  the  ghost;  he  tasted 
death  and  found  it  sweeter  than  the  new 
which  had  defrauded  him  of  his  own.  The 
boy  spoke  of  it  as  a  matter  of  course;  all  who 
live  must  die,  and,  Heaven  knows,  as  the  boy 
implied,  he  had  lived  long  enough,  and  with 
this  he  returned  to  the  dance. 

The  chains  of  the  jail  birds  rang  gayly  over 
the  battlements  as  I  bade  farewell  to  the 
keeper  and  the  kept.  Among  the  latter  are 
several  of  the  graduates  of  Lahainaluna,  the 
Protestant  Theological  Seminary  of  the  king- 
dom. The  little  sentinel  showed  me  out,  full 
of  pride  and  good  cheer  and  swelling  bravely 
in  his  stuffed  jacket,  and  the  key  clanked 
musically  in  the  big  lock  as  I  set  my  face 
toward  town.  It  is  said  that  this  prison  is 
the  despair  of  the  rising  generation;  that 
those  who  are  turned  from  it  pine  until  they 
once  more  enjoy  its  inexpensive  hospitality 
and  that  the  merriest  and  the  mildest  people 
in  the  world  are  prisoners. 

Courage,  my  children!  If  you  can  only  be 
naughty  enough  you,  too,  in  the  course  of 
time,  shall  inherit  the  penitentiary. 

Again  I  look  upon  the  reef,  but    now   from 


232  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

a  hillslope  skirted  by  a  belt  of  perennial  ver- 
dure; between  us  a  vein  of  water,  the  pulse 
of  the  sea,  throbs  languidly.  The  reef,  an 
amber  shoal,  seems  to  rise  and  flow  twice  in 
the  four  and  twenty  hours — as  the  tide  falls — 
and  to  slowly  subside  meanwhile,  until  much 
of  it  is  submerged,  but  there  is  always  a 
visible  strip  of  rank  green  grass,  and  upon 
it  is  perched  a  cluster  of  low  whitewashed 
hovels  just  above  highwater  mark — the  whited 
sepulchers  of  the  lazaretto. 

It  is  possible  to  drive  through  the  shallows 
that  ripple  between  the  reef  and  the  mainland 
when  the  tide  is  out.  Indeed,  one  may  wade 
through  it  then  without  much  difficulty,  but 
the  lazaretto  is  zealously  guarded  when  pes- 
tilence has  filled  it  with  tenants,  and  it  is  rare 
indeed  that  any  one  succeeds  in  escaping  from 
this  desolate,  wind-swept  strand.  They  are 
pretty  enough  when  seen  from  shore,  these 
small  white  hovels,  and  especially  so  when, 
looking  from  a  distant  hilltop,  one  sees  the 
sun  launch  from  a  rent  cloud  his  golden  bolts 
upon  them,  or  a  rainbow  precipitates  its 
curved  torrent  in  their  midst,  flooding  them 
with  prismatic  splendor.  The  reef,  or  rather 


ON    THE    REEF  233 

that  part  of  the  reef,  for  it  is  all  one,  though 
a  ship  may  pass  through  the  clefts  in  it  at 
long  intervals,  seems  like  a  phantom  island 
to  most  of  us,  for  there  are  times  when  it 
has  well-nigh  disappeared  and  when  even  the 
little  huts  are  almost  obscured  by  dark  cloud- 
shadows,  and  then  again  it  shines  in  glory 
and  the  silver  surf  beyond  it  leaps  against  a 
wall  of  saphyre,  and  the  sands  glisten  like 
refined  gold, 

It  was  during  my  third  visit  to  the  Hawaiian 
capital  when,  having  looked  off  upon  the  reef 
night  and  morning,  and  at  midday  and  moon- 
light, from  a  serene  height,  I  grew  to  know 
it  as  a  theme  capable  of  infinite  variation;  a 
kind  of  poem  to  whi'ch  every  day,  at  almost 
every  hour,  added  a  new  stanza;  a  picture 
that  was  always  complete,  though  never  fin- 
ished. 

About  this  time  it  was  publicly  announced 
that  a  great  luau  would  be  given  at  the  laza- 
retto, the  occasion  being  the  anniversary  of  the 
staying  of  the  plague.  Now  there  is  no 
absolute  necessity  for  the  introduction  of 
smallpox  into  the  Hawaiian  kingdom,  for 
among  the  natives  the  measles  are  sufficiently 


234  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

destructive;  but  the  smallpox  has  appeared 
and  desolated  the  people  more  than  once.  In 
such  cases  it  is  hard  to  segregate  the  victims, 
for  love  is  stronger  than  death,  and  too  often 
the  seeds  of  death  are  nourished  in  the  bosom 
of  love.  But  a  year  or  more  before  my  third 
visit,  by  persistent  energy  the  authorities 
gathered  some  hundreds  of  natives,  and  not 
a  few  foreigners,  upon  the  reef,  and  of  these 
no  small  proportion  perished,  and  the  natives 
were  interred  in  the  sand.  I  think  of  that 
sad  season  when  I  look  upon  the  reef  of  an 
evening  and  behold  the  watch-fires  of  the 
quarantine  twinkling  across  the  sea,  and 
when,  by  daylight,  the  sequestered  coolies 
swarm  like  ants  upon  the  sand,  yearning,  no 
doubt,  as  souls  in  purgatory,  for  the  heavenly 
hills  which  we  inhabit. 

In  common  with  the  masses,  I  crossed  the 
ford  on  the  day  appointed  and  joined  them  at 
the  luan  on  the  reef.  A  temporary  lanai,  or 
marquee,  had  been  erected  for  the  feast, 
which  is  the  foundation  of  a  luan.  Musicians 
were  there  and  hula  dancers,  for  without  these 
no  litau  is  worthy  of  the  name. 

There  was  eating,  overmuch  of  it,  and  tern- 


ON    THE    REEF  235 

perate  drinking  and  music  almost  incessantly. 
Many  of  the  songs  were  composed  for  the 
occasion.  The  improvisator!"  were  chanting 
the  requiems  for  the  dead,  the  eulogies  to  the 
living  and  in  each  case  stirring  the  hearts  of 
the  listeners  to  pathetic  raptures. 

Long  meles  in  praise  of  those  who  imperiled 
their  lives  for  the  sake  of  the  suffering  ones 
were  droned  to  the  dolorous  accompaniment 
of  mourners  vociferously  wailing  among  the 
tombs.  It  was  when  the  foreign  element, 
drawn  thither  by  curiosity,  had  returned  to 
town,  when  the  sun  had  sunk  into  the  golden 
flood  and  the  rich  twilight  was  melting  into 
darkness,  that  the  natives  began  to  abandon 
themselves  to  those  rites  which  we  call 
heathen,  and  which,  though  forbidden  by 
Christian  law  and  to  some  extent  obsolete, 
still  sway  them  irresistibly  in  their  more 
emotional  moods.  It  was  the  hula-hula  that 
alone  satisfied  them,  and  rhythmical  refrains 
from  a  mythology  that  defies  translation,  and 
mysterious  invocations  to  the  unforgotten 
gods.  Call  it  orgy  if  you  will,  there  was  in 
it  an  expression  of  feeling,  momentary  it  may 
be,  but  nevertheless  profound,  and  a  display 


236  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  emotion  that  was  contagious.  The  ecstasies 
of  the  dangers  mingled  strangely  with  the 
agonies  of  the  bereaved,  and  when  the  music 
arid  dancing  had  finally  ceased  and  the  sea 
seemed  to  have  parted  to  let  the  multitude 
pass  dry  shod  to  the  shore,  there  were  those 
who  lingered  yet  among  the  lonely  graves, 
their  foreheads  prone  upon  the  sand,  their 
hearts  broken  and  their  throats  hoarse  with 
the  howl  of  despair.  Among  these  were  some 
who  came  to  weep  for  one  who  had  passed 
too  rapidly  from  the  simplicity  of  the  savage 
to  the  duplicity  of  civilized  man.  I  had 
known  him  in  his  prime  and  in  his  degener- 
acy, and  now  I  knew  that  somewhere  among 
the  bleaching,  seawashed  sands  lay  the  bones 
of  Kane-Pihi,  who  early  fell  a  victim  to  the 
scourge. 

Nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  he 
should  absorb  the  seeds  of  disease,  for  caution 
is  unknown  of  his  race  and  he  would  not  be 
likely  to  desert  a  comrade  in  affliction.  He 
took  the  smallpox  with  avidity  and  never  for 
a  moment,  so  I  am  credibly  informed,  thought 
of  letting  it  go  again.  Fatalism  was  the  foun  • 
dation  of  his  faith  and  not  all  the  Scriptures 


ON    THE    REEF  237 

in  Christendom  could  rob  him  of  one  jot 
or  tittle  of  it.  He  could  enjoy  the  religious 
diversions  at  Kaumakapili,  and  distinguish 
himself  in  the  afterglow  of  the  periodical 
revival;  he  could  abandon  his  birthright  of 
health,  happiness  and  wholesome  liberty  for 
the  shams  which  were  offered  him  in  their 
stead;  he  could  play  fast  and  loose,  false  and 
true  with  the  best  of  them,  for  this  art  is 
easily  acquired  by  the  ingenious,  and  once 
acquired  is  never  again  forgotten  or  neglected; 
but  he  could  not  survive  the  great  change — 
the  change  of  heart,  the  change  of  dirt  and 
of  air  and  water  and  all  the  elements,  and  he 
went  to  his  death  like  a  bird  in  a  snare  with- 
out so  much  as  a  hope  of  rescue.  It  chanced 
to  be  the  smallpox  that  finished  him;  had  it 
not  been  this  doubtless  it  would  shortly  have 
been  something  else  as  unpremeditated.  The 
luau — the  first, — was  perhaps  not  entirely 
appropriate,  it  is  true;  it  may  never  recur  on 
that  lonely  slip  of  sand,  and  if  it  should  the 
bones  of  the  dead  will  have  been  ground  to 
powder  in  the  pitiless  mills  of  the  sea;  yet  it 
cannot  be  said  of  him  that  he  perished  unwept, 
unhonored  and  unsung,  and  here  is  some 


238  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

satisfaction  in  that.  It  was  only  the  smallpox, 
but  it  was  enough;  I  don't  note  the  fact  as 
being  one  of  the  evidences  of  Christianity  as 
applied  to  the  Hawaiian  race,  though  for  the 
most  part  Puritanism  touches  them  like  frost. 
The  epidemic  nearly  precipitated  the  inevit- 
able climax.  One  has  only  to  glance  at  a 
comparative  table  of  the  census  during  the  last 
three  score  years,  or  to  take  the  dimensions  of 
the  numerous  and  now  almost  vacant  Protest- 
ant churches  scattered  through  the  length 
and  the  breadth  of  the  land  to  draw  a  con- 
clusion by  no  means  flattering  to  any  Board  of 
Missions.  Having  spied  the  gentlest  of  sav- 
ages out  of  the  lonely  sea  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  them  how  to  die,  the  American  Mis- 
sionary calmly  folds  his  hands  over  the  grave 
of  the  nation  and  turns  his  attention  to  affairs 
more  private  and  peculiar 


XXX 

PL4NT4TION  DAYS. 

T^O  sail  over  placid  seas  in  sight  of  my  sum- 
mer islands;  to  lie  off  and  on  before  the 
mouths  of  valleys  that  1  have  loved,  where,  in 
my  youth,  I  have  been  in  ecstasy;  but  never 
again  to  set  foot  on  shore,  or  to  know  whether 
it  be  reality  or  a  dream — this  is  the  dance 
my  imagination  leads  me;  this  is  the  prelude 
to  many  an  unrecorded  souvenir. 

Why  did  I  ever  leave  a  land  so  paradisical? 
It  grew  too  hot  for  me  down  in  the  tropics; 
everything  I  cared  for  withered,  and  all  the 
juices  within  me  simmered  away;  so  in  a 
moment  of  temporary  sanity,  I  fled.  But  my 
heart,  the  vagabond,  returns  again  to  the 
green  pastures  of  its  youth,  which  reminds 
me:  It  was  not  yet  day  when  the  inter-island 
steamer  from  Honolulu,  bound  to  the  most 
windward  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  came  to 
anchor  at  Makena,  a  port  that  looks  very 

230 


24O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

much  as  if  a  bite  had  been  taken  out  of  a  not 
very  appetizing  sea-coast;  but  it  is  a  port  not 
to  be  despised  in  rough  weather,  for  here  the 
wind  is  tempered,  and  the  sea  during  the  prev- 
alence of  the  strong  trade  winds  is  far  quieter 
than  at  Malaaea,  a  few  miles  over  the  stern 
rail. 

Here  at  Makena,  under  a  fringe  of  the  for- 
lornest  palms  conceivable,  I  debarked.  Being 
an  expected  guest,  I  found  a  saddle-horse 
awaiting  me  in  charge  of  an  amiable  guide, 
and  without  delay  we  began  the  ascent  of 
Haleakala,  the  gigantic  extinct  crater,  the 
largest  in  the  world,  beyond  which  the  sun  is 
hidden  for  two  hours  after  he  has  begun  his 
course.  That  is  why  the  poetical  aborigines 
have  called  the  crater,  Haleakala, — the  house 
of  the  sun, — as  if  he  rose  literally  from  it,  or 
out  of  it. 

With  a  cluck  and  a  light  touch  of  the  spur, 
we  dashed  forward.  Three  rather  dreary 
miles  stretched  between  us  and  the  haven  of 
hospitality  at  Rose  Ranch,  two  thousand  feet 
above,  and  the  day  broke  gloriously  as  we 
toiled  up  the  slope  through  a  wilderness  of 
colossal  cacti.  Need  I  add,  that  the  dust  rose 


PLANTATION    DAYS  24! 

long  before  the  sun  did,  while  our  animal 
spirits  and  our  not  very  spirited  animals 
flagged  beautifully  in  concert. 

Courage!  There  was  the  most  restfullest 
kind  of  rest  and  the  most  refreshing  refresh- 
ment ahead  of  us.  The  top  end  of  the  trail 
launched  one  into  a  deliciously  cool  atmos- 
phere,— a  lung  bath  full  of  healing, — and  from 
that  semi-sublime  elevation  one  looked  back 
upon  the  earth  and  the  sea  in  the  superior 
mood  that  usually  succeeds  any  difficulty  well 
surmounted. 

Sparkling  with  the  dew  of  the  morning, 
Ulupalakua  emerged  as  if  by  enchantment 
from  a  sea  of  clouds.  Ulupalakua, — Ripe 
breadfruit  for  the  gods, — was  not  thy  melliflu- 
ously  flowing,  polytheistical;  pictorial — not  to 
say  spectacular, — denomination  as  goodly  a 
morsel  upon  the  tongue  as  "Rose  Ranch?" 
Bread-fruits  were  there  in  the  old  days,  rare- 
ripe for  the  gods,  and  no  doubt  they  were  as 
acceptable  as  the  roses  that  came  in  with  the 
Christians,  and  the  mosquitoes  and  all  the 

other    vermin    to    which    civilization    is    the 

> 

undisputed  heir. 

It  was    a    ripe,  bread-fruity,  and   god-like 


242  HAWAIIAN  LIFE 

morning  when  1 1  first  beheld  Ulupalakua 
emerging  from  her  maze  of  clouds.  What 
clouds  they  were!  Sometimes  they  overshad- 
owed her  like  a  great  downy  wing;  sometimes, 
but  not  often,  they  took  possession  of  her, 
and  her  high  hanging  garden  was  drenched 
with  fog.  But  her  air  is  always  of  the  purest, 
her  mists  of  the  whitest  description,  and  her 
bowers  breathe  a  delicate  odor,  the  fragrance 
of  which  varies  according  to  the  floral  calen- 
dar of  the  year. 

The  hearty  and  homelike  welcome  at  the 
gate  was  followed  by  a  substantial  breakfast, 
as  soon  as  I  had  been  given  time  to  shake  off 
the  dust  of  travel;  and  then  by  easy  stages 
was  I  suffered  to  drift  on  from  one  tranquil 
delight  to  another;  those  delights,  somehow, 
growing  more  and  more  tranquil,  but'  none 
the  less  delightful  as  they  multiplied. 

I  write  of  Halcyonian  Hawaii,  of  the  days 
that  are  no  more,  and  have  not  been  for  a 
very  long  time.  In  my  mind's  eye  is  a  vision 
typical  of  the  period,  one  peculiar  to  the  west- 
ern slope  of  Haleakala,  even  in  those  days  of 
royal  hospitality;  one  never  again  to  be  known 
in  that  degenerated  kingdom.  This  is  what 
I  see: 


PLANTATION    DAYS  243 

The  long  table  in  the  long,  long  dining 
hall,  stretched  to  its  utmost  and  filled  with 
naval  guests.  '  The  host  who  through  the 
somewhat  formal  dinner  has  wielded  the  car- 
ver with  unruffled  composure,  albeit  a  very 
magnificent  Admiral  is  enthroned  on  his  right 
hand — the  host  is  heartily  commended  when 
the  viands  are  removed,  and  the  cloth  dis- 
played in  all  its  original  purity.  It  is  the 
Admiral  who  calls  attention  to  his  host's  skill; 
of  course  the  Admiral's  suite  echoes  the 
Admiral,  and  the  applause  which  has  become 
general  heightens  the  color  in  the  cheek  of 
the  carver. 

I  believe  we  have  no  guest  on  this  occasion 
less  distinguished  than  the  companions  of  the 
wardroom,  but  the  never  to  be  forgotten  mid- 
dies have  a  brief  outing  and  a  banquet  some- 
what later  in  the  week, 

Now  the  Admiral,  being  both  on  shore  and 
on  very  good  terms  with  himself,  wishes  to 
stake  his  ship — at  anchor  in  the  harbor  of 
Makena  just  under  the  mountain — that  the 
Captain-host  at  Ulupalakua  is  qualified  to 
carve  a  peacock  at  a  Roman  feast;  in  fact,  to 
carve  a  peacock  among  magnificent  signers — 


244  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

here  the  Admiral's  forefinger  tapped  lightly 
upon  the  Admiral's  brow — such  as  had  "their 
pheasants  drenched  with  ambergris;  and  the 
carcasses  of  three  fat  wethers  bruised  for  gravy 
to  make  sauce  for  a  single  peacock!" 

A  responsive  chorus  of  approval  from  the 
guests  at  table,  a  double  broadside  as  it  were, 
follows  this  gallant  speech,  with  its  fine,  old- 
school  quotation. 

It  is  now  the  Captain's  turn,  and  with  the 
smile  that  flatters  its  author  and  lends  him 
the  air  of  one  peering  from  giddy  heights,  he 
replies  complacently  enough:  — 

"Gentlemen,  the  birds  you  have  just  eaten 
— were  peacocks!" 

By  this  time,  wine  and  cigars  being  in 
order,  the  whole  company  turns  with  enthu- 
siasm upon  the  host,  and  for  awhile  the  con- 
versation takes  on  a  pronounced  peacock 
tinge. 

"By  the  bye,"  says  the  Admiral,  with  a 
drawl  and  an  eyeglass  that  silence  every 
tongue, — "I  believe  I  have  never  seen  a  pea- 
cock with  his  tail  spread,  unless  he  were  on 
a.  screen,  or  upon  the  title  page  of  a  polka!" 
If  this  is  a  surprising  concession  on  the  part 


PLANTATION    DAYS  245 

of  a  naval  dignitary,  it    is   likewise  a  reproof 
for  the  bird. 

"We  have  musters  of  them  here,"  adds  the 
Captain,  still  reveling  in  his  smile;  "pray 
satisfy  yourself  that  the  tail  is  not  a  fable." 

With  this  he  leads  the  way  to  a  long  row 
of  mau&a-wmdows,  and  there  upon  the  up- 
sloping  lawn — for  mauka^  in  soft  Hawaiian, 
means  toward  the  mountain — there  a  score 
of  the  foolish  fowls  are  strutting  in  the  pomp 
of  their  splendid  plumage.  It  is  as  if  the 
Great  Mogul  had  sent  an  embassy  to  treat 
with  us;  or,  as  if  an  Arabian  night  had  sud- 
denly turned  into  day.  Huge  feathery  disks 
are  shimmering  in  the  sun,  now  near  its  setting : 
the  silken  rustle  of  agitated  plumage,  the 
indignant  rivalry,  the  amazing  pomposity,  the 
arrogance  and  conceit  of  the  silly  birds,  whose 
bosoms  are  aglow  with  phosphorescent  beauty, 
draw  shouts  of  admiration  and  astonishment 
from  the  bewildered  guests.  Is  it  a  sun- 
burst, or  a  feast  of  fuss  and  feathers  ?  The 
clashing  of  the  imperious  rivals  begins  to  be 
alarming.  Heaven  knows  what  might  have 
happened  but  for  the  timely  appearance  of  a 
pet  dog  upon  the  scene,  when,  with  a  shriek 


246  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

of  dismay,  the  whole  muster  takes  wing,  fill- 
ing the  air  with  discordant  cries. 

As  I  recall  this  Ulupalakua  of  that  period, 
it  seems  to  me  that  everything  pertaining  to 
plantation  life  was  done  upon  an  impressive 
scale.  At  the  time  I  write  of,  the  ladies  of 
the  family,  numbering  a  half-dozen  or  more, 
were  at  the  roomy  town  house  in  Honolulu, 
or  at  the  Coast — as  California  is  familiarly 
styled.  The  Captain  had  left  the  capital  to 
escort  the  Admiral  to  Makena  and  do  the 
honors  of  the  plantation,  while  the  flagship 
lay  in  port. 

Ulupalakua  hospitality  began  as  soon  as 
a.  foot  was  set  on  shore.  There  were  "cattle" 
enough  at  command  to  horse  a  company  of 
cavalry,  and  to  stay  the  stomachs  of  a  British 
regiment  with  the  traditional  roast.  The 
slaughter  under  axe  and  saddle  was  bloody — 
for  Jack  Tar  is  a  merciless  rider  and  has  a 
salt  air  appetite — yet  the  flocks  and  herds 
seemed  never  to  decrease  upon  the  hills. 

The  homestead  was  open  wide  at  all  times 
and  seasons.  It  was  a  one-storied,  rambling 
mother-house,  with  many  wings  and  angles; 
about  it  were  clustered  numerous  cottages  of 


PLANTATION    DAYS  247 

various  dimensions —such  cozy  cottages  as 
bachelors  delight  in — each  quite  independent 
of  the  others,  and  having  a  leafy  screen  and 
an  atmosphere  of  its  own.  At  night  every 
chamber  of  every  house  was  lighted,  so  that 
the  bounteous  garden  in  the  midst  of  the  set- 
tlement was  suffused  with  the  glow  of  good 
cheer. 

On  a  plateau  above  the  garden  was  the 
billiard-hall,  and  some  little  distance  beyond 
it, — though  not  so  far  away  but  in  the  still 
afternoon  a  muffled  peal  on  peal  was  faintly 
audible  even  in  the  select  silence  of  the  pri- 
vate chapel — stretched  the  long  bowling  alley. 
Between  billiards  and  bowls  lay  the  elysian 
fields,  a  tennis  court  of  velvety  perfection. 

Probably  business  preceded  pleasure,  even 
at  Ulupalakua,  but  it  took  precedence  with 
such  modest  grace  that  the  latter  seemed  the 
more  honored.  Everywhere  one  saw  evidences 
of  practical  activity,  for  method  was  the 
Captain's  mania;  but  over  all,  especially  in 
guest-time,  pleasure  played  like  a  smile. 
Cartwheels  groaned  to  the  music  of  ballad 
singing  drivers;  and  the  steam  whistle  down 
at  the  sugar  mill  was  hardly  more  pronounced 
than  the  matutinal  crash  of  ten-pins. 


248  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

I  can  see  them  now,  the  blue  jackets  off 
duty,  improving  the  shining  hours  with  an 
earnestness  that  might  put  a  bee  to  the  blush; 
for  between  the  side-board  and  the  siesta, 
time  flew  with  the  speed  of  a  six- winged 
seraph. 

The  ladies  were  indeed  absent  on  the 
auspicious  occasion  above  referred  to,  and  it 
were  folly  to  say  that  they  were  not  regretted; 
but  in  this  picturesque  period  a  household  like 
the  one  under  consideration  seemed  almost 
to  take  care  of  itself.  Ulupalakua  was  origin- 
ally the  best  exemplification  of  the  patriarchal 
system  in  the  whole  kingdom;  a  system  that 
came  in  with  the  American  Missionaries,  and 
has  now  become  one  of  the  fond  traditions  of 
Island  life.  From  the  veriest  child  that  was 
destined  to  grow  up  and  probably  end  his  days 
on  the  plantation,  to  the  old  fellow  who 
passed  his  declining  years  upon  the  lawn, 
with  a  low  camp-stool  and  a  pair  of  scissors, 
clipping  the  grass  blades  as  they  grew  from 
day  to  day,  and  his  antiquated  wife  whose  sole 
duty  was  to  shoot  the  peacocks  at  intervals, 
the  various  member  of  the  community  looked 
upon  the  Captain's  word  as  absolute.  The 


PLANTATION    DAYS  249 

innumerable  plantation  hands  were  like  mem- 
bers of  one  family;  you  could  have  ordered 
almost  anyone  within  sight  to  do  your  bid- 
ding, and  it  was  done  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  fourth  of  July  was  the  great  holiday  of 
the  year,  for  the  spirit  of  liberty  is  catching. 
As  the  Captain  was  a  staunch  American,  the 
stars  and  stripes  floated  from  the  flag-staffs 
before  the  homestead  .and  the  plantation 
office,  and  from,  the  peaks  of  a  private  packet 
that  plied  between  the  ports  of  Makena  and 
Honolulu.  She  was  a  trim  schooner  yacht 
that  was  in  no  wise  afraid  to  try  her  speed 
with  the  old  inter-island  steamer,  the  Kilauea 
in  any  sort  of  weather,  save  only  a  dead  calm. 
But  let  me  not  cast  a  reproach  upon  the 
memory  of  the  Kilaiica;  she  is  said  to  have 
whetted  her  keel  upon  every  reef  in  those 
treacherous  waters;  and  when,  after  long 
years  of  faithful  service,  she  was  condemned, 
it  required  the  aid  of  powder  to  dismember 
her;  yet  if  the  prayers  of  the  wicked — the 
uncomfortable  passengers — could  avail  aught, 
she  would  probably  have  gone  to  the  bottom 
at  a  much  earlier  period  in  her  career. 

O  happy  past!  What  a  blessing  it  is  that 
pleasant  memories  are  immortal ! 


25O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

When  the  young  ladies  were  at  the  home- 
steadj  and  the  guest  chambers  unoccupied- 
it  sometimes  so  happened  even  at  Ulupalakua 
—there  came  a  cry  from  the  garden,  a  pitiful 
and  despairing  cry — "Oh,  sister,  do  you  see  a 
dust  ?"  Then  the  sister,  two  or  three  of  her, 
probably,  responded  from  the  housetop  "No!" 
Or  perhaps  the  marine  glass  was  turned  upon 
the  far  distant  horizon  seeking  for  a  sail — 
"No  sail  from  day  to  day."  Only  once  a 
week  was  there  hope  of  the  mail  gladdening 
us;  as  news  from  the  outer  world  in  that  dim 
age  came  at  such  uncertain  intervals,  that  all 
business  was  suspended  when  it  did  arrive, 
until  the  thrice  welcome  letters  were  read  and 
re-read,  and  reluctantly  laid  away  for  innu- 
merable re-readings. 

When  the  sisters  came  down  from  the  house- 
top, having  abandoned  the  seas  in  despair, 
the  piano  was  played  more  wildly;  the  balls 
shot  madly  from  their  spheres  in  the  billiard 
hall ;  while  the  court  grew  positively  perilous: 
sometimes,  in  desperation,  the  cnnuiecs  dashed 
over  the  hills  at  break-neck  speed  on  the  backs 
of  broncos  that  were  but  half  broken. 

Yet  the  Navy  was  not  so  shy  of  us  in  those 


PLANTATION    DAYS  251 

days:  there  was  nearly  always  a  glimmer  of 
brass  buttons  in  the  tableaux  of  social  life. 
Ah,  me!  Many  a  youthful  mariner,  beautiful 
in  broadcloth,  gorgeous  in  gold  lace,  and 
surcharged  with  those  graceful  accomplish- 
ments that  are  forever  associated  with  the 
aspiring  off-shoots  of  Annapolis,  found  his 
way  as  if  by  instinct  into  the  rose-garden  of 
Ulupalakua;  the  shadows  of  the  kamani 
avenue  were  known  to  him,  and  in  its  kukui 
grove,  under  the  lee  of  Puumahoe,  he  has 
left  his  heart  firmly  imbedded  in  the  impres- 
sionable bark  of  some  love-nourishing  tree. 
If  he  has  not,  it  is  because  he  was  not  up  to 
the  high-water  mark  of  the  Navy. 

When  the  social  resources  of  the  place  were 
exhausted,  and  not  till  then,  was  the  Admiral 
of  the  peacock's  episode  permitted  to  hon- 
orably withdraw  from  the  siege  of  Ulupa- 
lakua. Meanwhile  Jack-tar  had  been  relish- 
ing his  barbacued  beef  down  at  Makena-by- 
the-sea,  and  had  not  had  half  a  bad  time, 
though  the  port  is  undoubtedly  a  dull  one 
between  meals. 

The  sun  had  set  nightly  with  great  eclat — 
a  sunset  was  one  of  the  features  of  our  enter- 


252  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

tainment.  The  magnolias  had  filled  their 
alabaster  bowls  with  moonlight  of  the  first 
quality — moonlight  that  ran  over  and  flooded 
the  whole  Island,  Hawaiian  singers  had  sung 
themselves  hoarse  under  the  verandas  o' 
nights.  The  clouds  had  come  down — they 
had  not  far  to  come — and  put  a  damper  on 
the  season  of  festivity.  It  was  evidently 
about  time  for  the  Admiral  to  steam  back  to 
the  capital,  if  he  would  escape  a  threatening 
gale,  and  that  he  did  one  morning,  taking  his 
host  along  with  him  as  a  souvenir  of  his  very 
jolly  experience. 

Then  followed  a  season  of  reaction  and 
convalescence,  during  which  I  was  quite  alone 
in  my  glory  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 
Transient  guests,  making  the  tour  of  the 
island,  dropped  in  upon  us  and  dropped  out 
again  without  causing  so  much  as  a  ripple  on 
the  peaceful  surface  of  life's  stream.  The 
latchstring  hung  within  the  reach  of  every 
one,  and  I  regret  to  add,  even  in  the  halcyo- 
nian  age  this  gracious  hospitality  was  some- 
times abused. 

As  for  myself,  a  favored  guest  at  all  times, 
I  had  books  without  number — many  of  them 


PLANTATION    DAYS  2 53 

choice  ones,  such  as  one  even  nowadays  may 
occasionally  stumble  upon  among  the  private 
libraries  scattered  throughout  the  kingdom. 

Then  there  was  the  piano  in  the  parlor,  a 
choice  one;  another  in  the  school-room, 
where  one  could  indulge  his  taste  for  melodi- 
ous calisthenics;  an  organ  in  the  chapel,  and 
a  collection  of  portable  instruments  scattered 
about  the  place.  There  were  romantic  trails 
to  be  tracked  only  in  the  saddle — on  saddle 
horses  and  saddles  of  every  possible  descrip- 
tion. There  was  pigeon-shooting  in  the 
cavern,  half  way  down  the  mountain  slope — 
but  the  birds  were  much  too  tame  for  sport, 
and  we  seldom  fluttered  them. 

A  cattle  drive  was  one  of  the  more  exciting 
pastimes,  and  in  this  all  joined  with  enthu- 
siasm—  even  the  ladies  sometimes  amazoned 
our  party.  If  you  desire,  Oh  reader!  to  witch 
the  world  with  noble  horsemanship,  let  me 
see  how  you  manage  a  mustang  during  a 
stampede  in  those  vast  orchards  of  prickly- 
pear,  and  I  will  answer  for  your  chances  in 
the  game  of  witchery. 

Wild  cattle  stand   not    upon   the   order    of 
their  going,  and  they   are   as    nimble    though 


254  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

not  as  light-footed  as  goats  when  they  once 
get  started  for  the  jungle,  where  they  vanish 
in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Though  the  cactus  is  like 
a  rack  full  of  reversed  pin-cushions — never 
was  there  a  more  formidable  cheval  defrise — 
yet  the  cattle  plunge  among  them  with  fear- 
less abandon  and  even  munch  barbed  thorns 
with  amazing  relish. 

Ah,  me!  but  my  season  of  solitude  was  a 
rare  delight,  and  the  frequent  divertisement 
a  never-failing  source  of  refreshment.  From 
books,  moused  out  of  a  deep,  dark  closet, 
where  they  had  been  stored  and  long  since 
forgotten, — old  books,  with  freckled  pages 
and  a  faint  musty  door  that  I  found  positively 
intoxicating, — to  the  bowling  alley,  was  the 
giddy  flight  I  took  when  so  disposed. 

It  was  a  unique  game  of  ten-pins  I  was 
wont  to  play  in  those  days.  Small  natives 
swarmed  like  bees  whenever  I  went  abroad ; 
you  see  I  was  the  one  haoli — or  foreigner — 
who  had  unlimited  leisure,  and  they  knew 
not  at  what  moment  it  might  suit  my  fancy 
to  embark  upon  some  erratic  expedition  such 
as  they  delighted  in.  At  a  moment's  notice 
I  could  command  a  troop  of  horses  worthy  of 


PLANTATION    DAYS  255 

an  outlaw  chief.  If  I  retired  to  the  billiard 
hall  to  amuse  myself  with  the  light  and  airy 
cue,  the  windows  and  doors  commanding  the 
four  sides  of  the  table  were  certain  to  be 
darkened  with  a  cloud  of  witnesses — but  I 
am  forgetting  the  ten-pins. 

There  was  a  small  kanaka  for  every  pin, 
and  one  for  each  ball;  these  in  some  myste- 
rious way  hung  upon  the  wall  at  the  far  and 
fatal  end  of  the  bowling  alley,  at  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  life  and  limb.  Whenever  I  made 
a  ten  strike,  which  I  positively  did  occasion- 
ally, it  was  invariably  received  with  a  deafen- 
ing round  of  cheers — not  omitting  the  "tiger": 
but  still  I  was  not  happy,  for  I  always  feared 
to  find  the  alley,  after  the  atmosphere  had 
cleared  a  little,  strewn  with  Hawaiian  slain. 

Many  and  various  changes  have  taken  place 
since  my  first  visit  to  Ulupalakua.  Then  the 
summer  breezes  sighed  in  the  white  plumed 
cane  fields  as  the  busy  ox  carts  were  laboring 
up  and  down  the  winding  road  from  dawn  to 
dusk.  There  was  a  whole  village — full  of 
plantation  hands — a  kind  of  happy  family 
village,  peopled  with  mixed  races  whose 
nationalities  ranged  from  Japan  almost  to  the 
Antarctic,  and  lapped  clean  around  the  world. 


256  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Cane-planting  was  the  Captain's  business, 
but  tree  planting  was  his  pleasure.  I  know 
not  how  many  thousand  saplings  were  rooted 
under  his  very  eyes — many  of  them  he  set 
out  with  his  own  hands.  There  were  acres 
and  acres  of  choice  cuttings;  they  crowned 
the  hill-tops  and  filled  the  beds  of  valleys  not 
otherwise  engaged.  He  watched  their  growth 
with  ceaseless  and  loving  care.  We  used  to 
ride  among  the  shrubs  when  they  were  scarcely 
up  to  our  stirrups,  and  he  would  talk  of  his 
plans  for  the  future;  not  those  plans  that  had 
to  do  with  the  sugar  market,  or  were  in  any 
way  material  or  sordid,  but  only  such  as  fed 
his  fancy  and  aided  him  to  picture  the  mag- 
nificent estate  that  was  his  delightful  hobby 
as  it  would  appear  in  after  years. 

In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  a  tropical  garden 
in  the  midst  of  Alpine  groves,  upon  a  plateau 
possessing  singular  climatic  advantages,  and 
commanding  breadths  of  earth,  sea,  and  sky 
— a  panorama  of  marvelous  variety  and 
beauty.  Comparative  isolation  was  in  this 
instance  a  blessing.  Had  it  been  advisable, 
the  Captain  could  at  any  moment  block  his 
highways  with  sharp-shooters,  read  the 


PLANTATION    DAYS  257 

Declaration  of  Independence,  and  look  down 
serenely  upon  the  little  kingdom  that  swam 
and  sweltered  below  him.  His  people  were 
loyal  to  a  man  and  this  spirit  of  loyalty  was 
easily  warmed  to  enthusiasm;  sentiment  is 
one  of  the  prominent  characteristics  of  the 
Hawaiian  race  and  there  is  something  in  the 
soft  atmosphere  of  these  favored  islands, — 
the  melting  humidity,  the  permeating  frag- 
rance, the  sensuous  warmth,  and  the  surpris- 
ing beauty  bursting  at  intervals  upon  the 
enraptured  vision,  that  nourishes  thevoluptu- 
ous  element  in  our  nature,  and  encourages  an 
easy  inclination  to  sentimentality. 

There  were  natives  in  the  Captain's  employ 
whose  parents  were  born  on  the  premises,  and 
whose  children  are  likely  to  pass  their  lives 
there  Though  the  Hawaiian  has  acquired  a 
taste  for  travel,  he  is  passionately  attached 
to  his  native  heath,  and  formerly  he  was  easily 
content  to  dwell  at  home  and  let  the  world 
go  by.  At  Ulupalakua  there  was  a  venerable 
coolie — the  tyrant  of  the  kitchen,  but  fondly 
indulgent  when  the  little  ones  appeared — who 
had  served  the  Captain's  family  faithfully  for 
thirty  years;  when  his  master  died  he 


258  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

redoubled  his  devotion  to  his  mistress;  but 
when  her  body  also  was  borne  to  the  family 
mausoleum  on  the  hill  overhanging  the  sea, 
he  threw  himself  upon  his  cot  and  never  again 
left  it  alive. 

These  are  traditions  of  past;  one  does  but 
dream  of  them  nowadays.  The  modern  serv- 
ant is  a  hireling  a  mercenary  fellow  with  an 
eye  single  to  his  sole  advantages.  Moreover 
the  entertainer's  wits  are  sharpened,  his  heart 
is  hardened,  and  doubtless  for  good  and  suffi- 
cient reasons.  Often  he  was  imposed  upon 
in  the  old  days  when  the  veriest  stranger  was 
welcomed  with  a  cordiality  worthy  of  an 
angelic  guest.  Now  there  are  public  lodg- 
ings to  be  obtained  for  hire  on  most  of  the 
thoroughfares,  and  the  calculating  Caucasians 
ready  to  serve  one  with  the  best  the  provin- 
cial market  affords,  at  a  price  just  within  the 
bounds  of  reason. 

Rose  Ranch  has  ever  been  a  paradise  in  the 
imaginations  of  those  who  were  beginning  to 
succumb  under  the  monotonous  high  tem- 
perature of  the  lowlands.  They  dream  of 
nights  in  which  woolen  blankets,  and  several 
of  them, are  indispensable  to  comfort;  and  of 


PLANTATION    DAYS  259 

evenings  when,  at  some  seasons  of  the  year, 
a  blazing  hearth  is  the  chief  attraction  of  the 
place;  they  think  of  days  that  dawn  in 
another  zone,  as  it  were,  where  temperate 
fruits  are  ruddying  and  ripening;  yet  from 
under  the  shadow  of  those  olive  boughs  the 
eye  of  contemplation  kindles  at  the  vision  of 
glowing  sands,  by  glittering  silver  sea,  where 
palm  groves  nod  and  quiver  in  the  heat — 
and  then  they  weep  with  longing. 

The  startling  notes  of  unfamiliar  birds  are 
heard  there  at  intervals,  for  the  forests  are 
haunted  by  the  shy  progeny  of  the  imported 
songsters  who  are  for  the  most  part  too  home- 
sick to  sing.  Once  in  a  while  a  paroquet 
flutters  in  the  edge  of  the  garden,  but  the  green 
solitudes  farther  up  the  heights  afford  superior 
attractions.  Even  the  mynah,  that  feathered 
bohemian  of  the  far  East,  finds  the  groves  of 
Honolulu  a  fitter  field  for  his  gipsyism,  and 
Ulupalakua  resounds  to  the  trumpet  blast  of 
the  peacock;  but  for  these  highly  decorative 
birds,  that  troop  in  hundreds  over  the  abund- 
ant acres,  the  quiet  of  the  Rose  Ranch  of 
today  would  take  on  a  somber  tinge;  for  the 
sound  of  the  grinding  is  low,  and  the  herds 


26O  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

that  abound  there,  if  they  have  not  a  thous- 
and hills  to  feed  upon,  have  yet  ample  room 
in  which  to  wander  and  browse,  and  they  are 
for  the  most  part  out  of  sight  and  sound. 

The  bowling  alley  long  since  was  blown 
down  in  a  gale,  and  its  forgotten  debris  lies 
buried  under  moss  and  creepers,  awaiting  the 
enterprising  pick  of  some  future  archaeologist. 
Tennis  survives,  and  is  likely  to  be  perpetu- 
ated; a  game  in  which  feminine  grace  and 
masculine  agility  are  striving  for  victory,  while 
the  looker-on  has  only  to  approve  with  equal 
fervor  and  discrimination,  is  sure  of  honorable 
mention  while  youth  and  beauty  disport  upon 
the  lawn. 

Prospect  Hill,  which  was  a  nursery  when 
the  Captain  and  I  used  to  climb  it,  is  now  a 
wood  worthy  to  be  called  umbrageous;  while 
the.  row  of  solemn  cypresses,  the  funereal  urns 
and  the  sad  paths  that  surround  the  mauso- 
leum, forcibly  remind  one  of  the  terraces  in 
a  Florentine  villa. 

Yet  this  is  not  a  melancholy  spot,  even  for 
those  who  remember  the  gayeties  of  the  past; 
and  if  I  dwell  more  upon  the  soft  cadence  of 
the  evening  breeze  the  caress  of  drooping 


PLANTATION    DAYS  26 1 

boughs,  and  the  silent  showers  of  rose  petals 
in  the  unvisited  arbor,  than  upon  the  jollity 
of  the  season,  it  is  because  these  are  charac- 
teristic of  Ulupalakua  in  repose,  a  repose 
singularly  grateful  to  a  disquieted  soul.  And 
these  charms  will  lead  one  ever  to  think  of 
the  place  and  to  speak  of  it  very  much  in  the 
spirit  of  Peter  Martyr,  who  thus  wrote  long 
ago  of  the  queen's  garden  in  the  Antilles:  — 
"Never  was  any  noisome  animal  found  there, 
nor  yet  any  ravaging  four-footed  beast,  nor 
lion,  nor  bear,  nor  fierce  tigers,  nor  crafty 
foxes,  nor  devouring  wolves,  but  all  things 
blessed  and  fortunate."  .  .  . 


XXXI 

THE  DRAMA  IN  DREAM-LAND. 

TT  is  from  the  seaward  window  of  the  United 
States  Legation  in  Honolulu  that  I  have  of 
late  cast  a  pathetic  eye.  The  "tear  of  sym- 
pathy" may  not  flow  as  freely  in  recent  liter- 
ature as  was  its  custom  in  the  age  of  more 
reverent  readers  and  writers;  but  there  is 
something  in  the  forlorn  beauty  of  the  wilder- 
ness over  against  the  Legation  that  conjures 
the  obsolete  globule  above  referred  to,  and  I 
shed  it  fearlessly  and  not  without  reason. 

Upon  the  diagonal  corner  of  the  street 
stands  the  new  hall  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association,  smelling  of  bricks  and 
mortar;  over  the  way  is  a  tenement  where 
plain  board  and  lodging  entice  the  stranger 
under  a  disguise  of  fresh  paint; — these  are 
both  innovations  necessary,  no  doubt,  to  the 
requirements  of  a  progressive  age;  but  the 
occasion  of  my  present  solicitude  is  a  vacant 

262 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  263 

corner  lot,  trimly  fenced,  wherein  two  rows 
of  once  stately  palms  now  struggle  with  decay 
and  the  unpruned  parasites  that  fatten  on  it. 

It  is  a  weird  garden,  where  Flora  and 
Thespis  once  held  friendly  rivalry.  What  a 
jumble  of  botanical  debris  and  histrionic  rub- 
bish now  litters  the  arena  flanked  by  forlorn 
palms !  Out  of  it  all  I  doubt  if  the  sentimental 
scavenger  would  be  able  to  pick  any  relic  more 
substantial  than  the  airy  dagger  of  Macbeth; 
but  upon  points  so  slight  as  this  hang  imper- 
ishable memories;  hence  follow  these  remi- 
niscences of  the  late  Royal  Hawaiian  Theater. 

Well  nigh  a  score  of  years  ago  I  was  loung- 
ing at  Whitney's  bookstore  in  Honolulu;  it 
was  at  that  time  a  kind  of  Hawaiian  Forum, 
with  a  postoffice  on  one  side  of  the  room  and 
a  semaphore  on  the  roof.  Dull  work  in  those 
days,  waiting  for  the  gaunt  arms  of  the  semi- 
phore  to  swing  about,  uttering  cabalistical 
prophecies — "No  sail  from  day  to  day."  No 
steamers  then  to  stain  the  brilliant  sky  with 
trailing  smoke;  the  mail-days  depended 
entirely  upon  the  state  of  the  wind  and  the 
tide. 

I  was  weary   of   fumbling   the    shop-worn 


264  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

books,  of  listening  or  trying  not  to  listen  to 
the  roar  of  the  rollers  on  the  reef;  woefully 
weary  of  the  tepid  monotony  that  offered  not 
even  an  excuse  for  irritation. 

Upon  this  mood  entered  a  slender  but  well  • 
proportioned  gentleman,  clad  in  white  linen 
raiment,  spotless  and  well  starched;  there 
was  something  about  him  which  would  have 
caused  the  most  casual  observer  to  give  him  a 
second  glance — a  mannerism  and  an  air  that 
distinguished  him.  A  professional,  probably, 
thought  I;  an  eccentric,  undoubtedly.  I  was 
not  surprised  when,  upon  the  entrance  of  a 
common  friend  a  few  moments  later,  I  was 
made  acquainted  with  Mr.  Proteus,  proprietor 
and  manager  of  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Theater, 
likewise  government  botanist  and  professor 
of  many  branches  of  art  both  sacred  and  pro- 
fane. Mr.  Proteus  bowed  somewhat  in  the 
manner  of  a  French  dancing-master,  and 
shuddered  slightly  upon  being  shaken  by  the 
hand;  at  a  latter  date  he  requested  me  never 
to  repeat  a  formality  which  he  could  not  but 
consider  quite  unnecessary  in  general  and  in 
most  cases  highly  objectionable. 

After  having  cautiously    exchanged    a    few 


LTHE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  -265 

languid  commonplaces,  Mr.  Proteus  invited 
me  to  visit  his  Temple  of  the  Muses.  Noth- 
ing could  have  pleased  me  better.  I  regarded 
him  as  a  godsend,  and  we  at  once  repaired  to 
the  theater,  threading  the  blazing  streets 
together  under  a  huge  umbrella  of  dazzling 
whiteness,  held  jauntily  by  my  new-found 
friend. 

I  like  theaters;  I  dote  on  dingy  tinsel  and 
stucco  which  in  a  flash  of  light  is  transformed 
into  brilliant  beauty;  and  the  odor,  the 
unmistakable  odor,  of  stale  foot-lights  and 
thick  coats  of  distemper;  the  suggestive  con- 
fusion of  flats  and  wings  and  flies;  the  pict- 
uresque bric-a-brac  of  the  property-room; 
the  trap-doors,  the  slides,  the  grooves,  the 
stuffy  dressing-rooms,  and  the  stray  play-bills 
pasted  here  and  there  in  memory  of  gala- 
nights  in  the  past.  Of  all  the  theaters  that 
I  have  known,  this  was  the  most  theatrical, 
because  the  most  unreal;  it  was  like  a  make- 
believe  theater,  wherein  everything  was  done 
for  the  fun  of  it;  a  kind  of  child's  toy  theater 
grown  up,  and  full  of  grown-up  players,  who, 
by  an  enchantment  which  was  the  sole  right 
of  this  house,  became  like  children  the 


266  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

moment  they  set  foot  upon  that  stage;  and 
there,  people  and  players  were  as  happy  and 
careless  as  children  so  long  as  one  stone  of 
that  play-house  stood  upon  another. 

We  turned  into  Alakea  Street,  a  pastoral 
lane  in  those  days;  the  grass  was  parted  down 
the  middle  of  it  by  a  trail  of  dust;  strange 
trees  waved  blossoming  branches  over  us.  I 
looked  up:  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  garden 
stood  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  building;  but 
for  its  surroundings  I  might  easily  have  mis- 
taken it  for  a  primitive,  puritanical,  New  Eng- 
land village  meeting-house;  long  windows, 
of  the  kind  that  slide  down  into  a  third  of 
their  natural  height,  were  opened  to  the 
breeze;  great  dragon-flies  sailed  in  and  out 
at  leisure. 

The  theater  fronted  upon  a  street  more 
traveled  and  more  pretentious  than  the  one 
we  entered,  and  from  that  street  a  flight  of 
steps  led  to  a  door  which  might  have  opened 
into  the  choir-loft  if  this  had  really  been  a 
meeting-house;  but  as  it  was  nothing  of  the 
sort,  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  admitted 
you  without  a  moment's  notice  to  the  dress 
circle;  bees  and  butterflies  lounged  about  it; 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  267 

every  winged   thing  had  the   entree  of   this 
establishment. 

With  Proteus  I  approached  the  stage  door; 
tufts  of  long  grass  trailed  over  the  three  broad 
wooden  steps  before  the  mysterious  portal; 
luxuriant  creepers  festooned  the  casement; 
small  lizards,  shining  with  metallic  luster,  slid 
into  convenient  crevices  as  we  drew  near.  A 
faint  delicious  fragrance  was  wafted  from  the 
garden,  where  a  native  lad  with  spouting  hose 
in  hand  was  showering  a  broad-leafed  plant, 
upon  which  the  falling  water  boomed  like  a 
drum;  it  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the 
soothing  silence. 

Proteus  produced  a  key,  and  with  a  flourish 
applied  it  to  the  lock;  the  door  swung  in  upon 
the  stage  (no  dingy  and  irregular  passage 
intervened) — the  cozy  stage  flooded  with  sun- 
shine, from  which  the  mimic  scenes  had  been 
swept  back  against  the  wall,  and  the  space 
filled  to  the  proscenium  with  trapeze,  rings, 
bars,  and  spring-boards;  in  brief,  the  theater 
had  been  transformed  into  a  gymnasium 
between  two  dramatic  seasons. 

The  body  of  the  house  was    in   its    normal 
condition — the  pit  filled  with  rude  benches;   a 


268  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

piano  stood  under  the  foot-lights  (it  usually 
comprised  the  orchestra);  thin  partitions, 
about  shoulder  high,  separated  the  two  ends 
of  the  dress-circle,  and  the  spaces  were  known 
as  boxes.  A  half-dozen  real  kings  and  queens 
had  witnessed  the  lives  and  deaths  of  player- 
kings  and  queens  from  these  queer  little 
cubby-holes. 

Folding  doors  thrown  wide  open  in  the  rear 
of  the  stage  admitted  us  to  the  green-room — 
a  pretty  parlor  well  furnished  with  bachelor 
comforts.  The  large  center-table  was  cov- 
ered with  a  rich  Turkish  tapestry;  on  it  stood 
an  antique  astral  lamp  with  a  depressed  globe 
and  a  tall,  slender  stem;  handsome  mirrors, 
resting  upon  carved  and  gilded  consoles, 
extended  to  the  ceiling;  statuettes  and  vases 
were  placed  before  them;  lounges,  Chinese 
reclining-chairs,  and  ottomans  encumbered 
the  floor;  a  valuable  oil-painting  which  had 
a  look  of  age  hung  over  the  piano;  on  the 
latter  stood  two  deep,  bell-shaped  globes  of 
glass  that  protected  wax  tapers  from  the  trop- 
ical drafts;  a  double  window,  which  was  ever 
open  to  the  trade-wind  was  thickly  screened 
by  vines.  On  one  side  of  this  exceptional 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  269 

green-room  (it  was  in  reality  the  boudoir  of 
the  erratic  Proteus)  was  a  curtained  arch, 
and  within  it  the  sleeping  apartment  of  him 
who  had  for  years  made  the  theater  his  home. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  room  was  a  bath 
supplied  with  a  flowing  stream  of  fresh,  cool 
mountain  water.  Beneath  the  stage  were  all 
the  kitchen  wares  that  heart  or  stomach  could 
desire.  And  thus  was  the  drama  nourished 
in  Dream-land  before  the  antipodes  had  lost 
their  reserve. 

Proteus  was  an  extremist  in  all  things,  capa- 
ble of  likes  and  dislikes  as  violent  as  they 
were  sudden  and  unaccountable;  we  became 
fast  friends  at  once,  and  it  was  my  custom  to 
lounge  under  the  window  in  the  green-room 
hour  after  hour,  while  he  talked  of  the  vicissi- 
tudes in  his  extraordinary  career,  or  related 
episodes  in  the  dramatic  history  of  his  house 
— a  history  which  dated  back  to  1848;  some 
of  these  were  romantic,  some  humorous  or 
grotesque,  but  all  were  alike  of  interest  to  me. 

Honolulu  has  long  been  visited  by  musi- 
cal and  dramatic  celebrities,  for  they  are  a 
nomadic  tribe.  As  early  as  1850,  Steve  Mas- 
sett — "Jeems  Pipes  of  Pipesville" — was  con- 
certizing  here,  and  again  in  1878.  In  1855 


2/0  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

Kate  Hayes  gave  concerts  at  three  dollars  per 
ticket;  Lola  Montez  and  Madame  Ristori 
have  visited  this  capital,  but  not  profession- 
ally. In  1852  Edwin  Booth  played  in  that 
very  theater,  and  for  a  time  lived  in  it,  after 
the  manner  of  Proteus;  among  those  who 
have  followed  him  are  Charles  Mathews,  Herr 
Bandmann,  Walter  Montgomery,  Madame 
Marie  Duret,  Signor  and  Signora  Bianchi, 
Signer  Orlandini,  Madame  Agatha  States, 
Madame  Eliza  Biscaccianti,  Madame  Joseph- 
ine d'Ormy,  J.  C.  Williamson  and  Maggie 
Moore,  Professor  Anderson,  "The  Wizard  of 
the  North,''  Madame  Anna  Bishop  in  1857  and 
1868,  lima  di  Murksa,  the  Carrandinis,  the 
Zavistowskis,  Charlie  Backus,  Joe  Murphy, 
Billy  Emerson,  etc.  As  for  panoramas,  magi- 
cians, glass-blowers,  and  the  like,  their  number 
and  variety  are  confounding. 

The  experiences  of  these  clever  people  while 
here  must  have  been  delightful  ,to  most  of 
them;  though  the  professional  who  touches 
for  a  few  hours  or  a  few  days  only  at  this 
tropical  oasis  in  the  sea-desert  on  his  way  to 
or  from  Australia  will  hardly  realize  the  senti- 
mental sadness  of  those  who  have  gone  down 
into  the  Pacific  to  astonish  the  natives,  and 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND 


have  found  it  no  easy  task  to  get  over  the  reef 
again  at  the  close  of  a  disastrous  season.  The 
hospitality  of  the  hospitable  people  is  not 
always  equal  to  such  an  emergency;  but  there 
are  those  who  have  returned  again  to  Dream- 
land, and  who  have  longed  for  it  ever  since 
they  first  discovered  that  play-acting  is  not 
all  work  —  in  one  thea'ter,  at  least. 

That  marvelously  young  old  man,  the  late 
Charles  Mathews,  who  certainly  had  a  right 
to  be  world-weary  if  any  one  has,  out  of  the 
fullness  of  his  heart  wrote  the  following  on 
his  famous  tour  in  1873—74: 

"At  Honolulu,  one  of  the  loveliest  little 
spots  upon  earth"  —  he  was  fresh  from  the 
gorgeous  East  when  he  wrote  that  —  from  the 
Indies,  luminous  in  honor  of  the  visit  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales  —  "I  acted  one  night  by  com- 
mand and  in  the  presence  of  His  Majesty 
Kamehameha  V.,  King  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands  —  not  Hoky  Poky  Wanky  Fun,  as 
erroneously  reported;  and  a  memorable  night 
it  was. 

"I  found  the  theater  —  to  use  a  technical 
expression  —  crammed  to  suffocation,  which 
merely  means  very  full;  though,  from  the 
state  of  the  thermometer  on  this  occasion, 


2/2  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

suffocation  wasn't  so  incorrect   a   description 
as  usual. 

"A  really  elegant-looking  audience;  tickets 
ten  shillings  each;  evening  dresses,  uniforms 
of  every  cut  and  country;  chiefesses  and  ladies 
of  every  tinge  in  dresses  of  every  color; 
flowers  and  jewels  in  profusion,  satin  play- 
bills, fans  going,  windows  and  doors  all  open, 
an  outside  staircase  leading  straight  into  the 
dress-circle,  without  check-taker  or  money- 
taker. 

"Kanaka  women  in  the  garden  below  selling 
bananas  and  peanuts  by  the  glare  of  flaming 
torches  on  a  sultry,  tropical  moonlight  night. 

"The  whole  thing  was  like  nothing  but  a 
midsummer  night's  dream. 

"And  was  it  nothing  to  see  a  whole  pit  full 
of  Kanakas,  black,  brown,  and  whity-brown, 
till  lately  cannibals,  showing  their  teeth,  and 
enjoying  'Patter  versus  Clatter'  as  much  as  a 
few  years  ago  they  would  have  enjoyed  the 
roasting  of  a  missionary  or  the  baking  of  a 
baby? 

"It  was  certainly  a  page  in  one's  life  never 
to  be  forgotten." 

Let  me  add  that  Mr.  Mathews  is  more 
amusing  than  authentic;  cannibalism  is 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  273 

unknown  in  the  annals  of  the  Hawaiian  king- 
dom; if  there  has  been  any  human  roasting 
done  in  this  domain,  it  has  been  done  since 
the  arrival  of  the  American  missionaries. 

That  little  play-house  was  in  its  day 
thronged  by  audiences  attracted  by  very  dis- 
similar entertainments;  anything  from  five 
acts  and  a  prologue  of  melo-drama  to  a  troupe 
of  trained  poodles  was  sure  to  transform  the 
grassy  lane  into  a  bazaar  of  fruit-sellers,  and 
the  box-office  under  the  stairs  into  a  bedlam 
of  chattering  natives.  One  heard  almost  as 
well  outside  as  within  the  building;  the  high 
windows  were  down  from  the  top,  because 
air  was  precious  and  scarce;  banana  leaves 
fluttered  like  cambric  curtains  before  them; 
if  a  familiar  air  was  struck  upon  the  piano  in 
the  orchestra,  the  Kanakas  lying  in  the  grass 
under  the  garden  fence  took  up  the  refrain 
and  hummed  it  softly  and  sweetly;  the  music 
ceased,  the  play  began,  the  listeners  in  the 
street,  seeing  no  part  of  the  stage — little,  in 
fact, save  the  lamp-light  streaming  through  the 
waving  banana  leaves — busied  themselves 
with  talk;  they  buzzed  like  swarming  bees, 
they  laughed  like  careless  children,  they 
echoed  the  applause  of  the  spectators,  and 


2/4  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

amused  themselves  mightily.  Meanwhile, 
the  royal  family  was  enjoying  the  play  in  the 
most  natural  and  unpretentious  fashion. 
Perhaps  it  was  an  abbreviated  version  of  a 
Shakesperian  tragedy  primitively  played  by  a 
limited  company;  or  it  may  have  been  the 
garden  scene  from  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
wherein  Juliet  leaned  from  a  balcony  embow- 
ered with  palms  and  ferns  transplanted  from 
the  garden  for  this  night  only,  and  making  a 
picture  of  surpassing  loveliness. 

Everybody  in  that  house  knew  everybody 
else;  a  solitary  stranger  would  have  been  at 
once  discovered  and  scrutinized  It  was  like 
a  social  gathering,  where,  indeed,  "carriages 
may  be  ordered  at  10:30;"  but  most  of  the 
participants  walked  home  Who  would  not 
have  walked  home  through  streets  that  are 
like  garden  paths  very  much  exaggerated; 
where  the  melodious  Kanaka  seeks  in  vain  to 
out  sing  the  tireless  cricket,  and  both  of  them 
are  overcome  by  the  lugubrious  double-bass 
of  the  sea? 

But  to  Proteus  once  more:  when  social 
dinners  ceased  to  attract,  when  the  boarding- 
house  grew  tedious  and  the  Chinese  restau- 
rant became  a  burden,  he  repaired  to  the  cool 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  2/5 

basement  under  the  stage,  a  kind  of  culinary 
laboratory,  such  as  amateurs  in  cookery 
delight  in,  and  there  he  prepared  the  daintiest 
dishes,  and  we  often  partook  of  them  in 
Crusoe-like  seclusion.  Could  anything  be 
jollier?  Sweetmeats  and  semi-solitude,  and 
the  Kanaka  with  his  sprinkler  to  turn  on  a 
tropical  shower  at  the  shortest  notice.  This 
'youth  was  a  shining  example  of  the  ingen- 
uousness of  his  race;  he  had  orders  to  water 
the  plants  at  certain  hours  daily;  and  one 
day  we  found  him  in  the  garden  under  an 
umbrella,  playing  the  hose  in  opposition  to  a 
heavy  rain  storm.  His  fidelity  established 
him  permanently  in  his  master's  favor. 

Many  strange  characters  found  shelter  under 
that  roof:  Thespian  waifs  thrown  upon  the 
mosquito  shore,  who,  perhaps,  rested  for  a 
time,  and  then  set  sail  again;  prodigal  circus 
boys,  disabled  and  useless,  deserted  by  their 
fellows,  here  bided  their  time,  basking  in  the 
hot  sunshine,  feeding  on  the  locusts  and  wild 
honey  of  idleness,  and  at  last,  falling  in  with 
some  troupe  of  strolling  athletes,  have  dashed 
again  into  the  glittering  ring  with  new  life,  a 
new  name,  and  a  new  blaze  of  spangles;  the 
sadness  of  many  a  twilight  in  Honolulu  has 


2/6  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

been  intensified  by  the  melancholy  picking  of 
the  banjo  in  the  hands  of  some  dejected  min- 
strel. All  these  conditions  touched  us  simi- 
larly. Reclining  in  the  restful  silence  of  that 
room,  it  was  our  wont  to  philosophize  over 
glasses  of  lemonade — nothing  stronger  than 
this,  for  Proteus  was  of  singularly  temperate 
appetites;  and  there  I  learned  much  of  those 
whom  I  knew  not  personally,  and  saw  much 
of  some  whom  I  might  elsewhere  have  never 
met. 

One  day  he  said  to  me:  "You  like  music; 
come  with  me  arid  you  shall  hear  such  as  is 
not  often  heard."  We  passed  down  the 
pretty  lane  upon  which  the  stage  door  opened, 
and  approached  the  sea;  almost  upon  the 
edge  of  it,  and  within  sound  of  the  ripples 
that  lapped  lazily  the  coral  frontage  of  the 
esplanade,  we  turned  into  a  bakery  and 
inquired  for  the  baker's  lady.  <  She  was 
momentarily  expected.  We  were  shown  into 
an  upper  room  scantily  furnished,  and  from 
a  frail  balcony  that  looked  unable  to  support 
us  we  watched  the  coming  of  a  portly  female 
in  a  short  frock,  whose  gait  was  masculine, 
and  her  tastes  likewise,  for  she  was  smoking 
a  large  and  handsomely  colored  meerschaum; 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  2/7 

a  huge  dog,  dripping  sea  water  at  every  step, 
walked  demurely  by  her  side.  Recognizing 
Proteus,  who  stood  somewhat  in  fear  of  her, 
for  she  was  bulky  and  boisterous,  she  hailed 
him  with  a  shout  of  welcome  that  might  have 
been  heard  a  block  away. 

This  was  Madame  Jospehine  d'Ormy,  whose 
operatic  career  began — in  America — long  ago 
in  Castle  Garden,  and  ended  disastrously  in 
San  Francisco.  Her  adventures  by  land  and 
sea — she  was  once  shipwrecked — will  not  be 
dwelt  on  here.  Enough  that  she  laid  aside 
her  pipe,  saluted  Proteus  with  an  emphasis 
that  raised  him  a  full  foot  from  the  floor,  and 
learning  that  I  was  from  San  Francisco,  she 
embraced  me  with  emotion;  she  could  not 
speak  of  that  city  without  sobbing.  Placing 
herself  at  an  instrument — it  looked  like  an 
aboriginal  melodeon — the  legs  of  which  were 
so  feeble  that  the  body  of  it  was  lashed  with 
hempen  cord  to  rings  screwed  into  the  floor, 
she  sang,  out  of  a  heart  that  seemed  utterly 
broken,  a  song  which  was  like  the  cry  of  a 
lost  soul. 

Tears  jetted  from  her  eyes  and  splashed 
upon  her  ample  bosom;  the  instrument 
quaked  under  her  vigorous  pumping  of  the 


278  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

pedals;  it  was  a  question  whether  to  laugh  or 
to  weep — a  hysterical  moment — but  the  case 
she  speedily  settled  by  burying  her  face 
in  her  apron  and  trumpeting  sonorously;  upon 
which,  bursting  into  a  hilarious  ditty,  she 
reiterated  with  hoarse  "ha,  ha's,"  that  ended 
in  shrieks  of  merriment,  "We'll  laugh  the 
blues  away!" — and  we  did. 

This  extraordinary  woman,  whose  voice,  in 
spite  of  years  of  dissipation,  had  even  to  the 
end  a  charm  of  its  own,  came  to  her  death  in 
San  Francisco  at  the  hands  of  a  brute  who 
was  living  upon  the  wages  she  drew  for  play- 
ing the  piano  in  a  beer-cellar. 

Then  there  was  Madame  Marie  Duret,  who, 
having  outlived  the  popularity  of  her  once 
famous  "Jack  Sheppard,"  would  doubtless 
have  ended  her  days  in  Dream-land  chaper- 
oning the  amateurs,  and  probably  braving  the 
tootlights  herself  at  intervals,  for  she  was  well 
preserved.  But  alas!  there  was  a  flaw  in 
the  amenities,  and  she  fled  to  worse  luck. 
She  went  to  California,  fighting  poverty  and 
paralysis  with  an  energy  and  good  nature  for 
which  she  was  scarcely  rewarded.  A  mere 
handful  of  friends,  and  most  of  those  recent 
ones,  saw  her  decently  interred. 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  279 

And  mad,  marvelous  Walter  Montgomery, 
with  his  sensational  suicide  in  the  first  quar- 
ter of  a  honey-moon.  He  used  to  ride  a 
prancing  horse  in  Honolulu,  a  horse  that  was 
a  whole  circus  in  itself,  and  scatter  handfuls 
of  small  coin  to  and  fro  just  for  the  fun  of 
seeing  the  little  natives  scramble  for  it. 

And  Madame  Biscaccianti — poor  soul !  the 
thorn  was  never  from  the  breast  of  that  night- 
ingale. After  the  bitterest  sorrows  mingled 
with  the  brilliantest  triumphs,  did  she,  I  won- 
der, find  comfortable  obscurity  in  Italy  a 
compensation  for  all  her  sufferings?  At  last 
she  sleeps  in  her  unvisited  grave.  Sleep  well, 
old  friend! 

Proteus  himself  had,  perhaps,  the  most 
uncommon  history  of  all.  This  he  related 
one  evening  when  we  were  in  the  happiest 
mood;  there  was  a  panorama  dragging  its 
slow  length  along  before  an  audience  attracted, 
no  doubt,  as  much  by  the  promise  of  numer- 
ous and  costly  gifts,  of  a  sum  total  far  out 
stripping  the  receipts  of  the  house,  as  by  the 
highly  colored  pictorial  progress  of  Bunyan's 
famous  Pilgrim.  We  had  been  lounging  in 
the  royal  box,  and,  growing  weary  of  the 
entertainment,  especially  weary  of  a  barrel- 


280  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

organ  that  played  at  the  heels  of  Christian 
through  all  his  tribulation,  we  repaired  to  the 
green-room,  and  somehow  fell  to  talking  of 
individual  progress,  and  of  the  pack  we  each 
of  us  must  carry  through  storm  and  shine. 
Proteus  evidently  began  his  story  without 
premeditation;  it  was  not  a  flowing  narrative; 
there  were  spurts  of  revelation  interrupted  at 
intervals  by  the  strains  ot  the  barrel-organ, 
from  which  there  was  no  escape.  Later,  I 
was  able  to  follow  the  thread  of  it,  joining 
it  here  and  there,  for  he  himself  had  become 
interested,  and  he  had  frequent  recourse  to  a 
diary  which  he  had  stenographed  after  his 
own  fashion,  and  the  key  of  which  no  one  but 
he  possessed. 

He  was  of  New  England  parentage,  born 
in  1826;  as  a  youth,  was  delicate  and  effem- 
inate ;  was  gifted  with  many  accomplishments, 
sketched  well,  sang  well,  played  upon  several 
instruments,  and  was,  withal,  an  uncommon 
linguist.  He  was  a  great  lover  of  nature. 
His  knowledge  was  varied  and  very  accurate; 
he  was  an  authority  upon  most  subjects  which 
interested  him  at  all,  was  a  botanist  of  repute, 
had  a  smattering  of  many  sciences,  and  was 
correct  as  far  as  he  went  in  them. 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  28 1 

He  lost  his  father  in  infancy,  and  his  train- 
ing was  left  to  tutors;  he  was  a  highly  imag- 
inative dreamer,  and  romantic  in  the  extreme; 
for  this  reason,  and  having  never  known  a 
father's  will,  he  left  home  in  his  youth,  and 
was  for  some  years  a  wanderer,  seeking,  it 
was  thought,  an  elder  brother,  who  had  long 
since  disappeared.  He  was  in  California  in 
early  days,  in  Hawaii,  Australia,  and  Tahiti; 
the  love  of  adventure  grew  upon  him;  he 
learned  to  adapt  himself  to  all  circumstances. 
Though  not  handsome  he  was  well  propor- 
tioned and  possessed  of  much  muscular  grace 
He  traveled  for  a  time  with  a  circus,  learned 
to  balance  himsef  on  a  globe,  to  throw  double- 
summersaults,  and  to  do  dating  trapeze-flights 
in  the  peak  of  the  tent.  Growing  weary  of 
this,  and  having  already  known  and  become 
enamored  of  Hawaii,  he  returned  to  the 
islands,  secured  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Theater 
and  began  life  anew.  His  collection  of  botan- 
ical plants  surrounding  the  theater  was  excep- 
tionally rich  and  a  source  of  profit  to  him; 
but  the  theater  was  his  hobby,  and  he  rode  it 
to  the  last. 

Nothing  seemed   quite    impossible    to    him 
upon  the  stage;   anything  from  light    comedy 


282  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

to  eccentric  character  parts  were  in  his  line ; 
the  prima  donna  in  burlesque  opera  was  a 
favorite  assumption;  nor  did  he,  exit  of  the 
love  of  his  art,  disdain  to  dance  the  wench- 
dance  in  a  minstrel  show;  he  had  even  a 
circus  of  his  own;  but  his  off  hours  were 
employed  in  his  garden  or  with  pupils  whom 
he  instructed  in  music,  dancing,  fencing,  box- 
ing, gymnastics,  and  I  know  not  what  else. 

On  one  occasion  he  took  with  him  to  Cali- 
fornia a  troupe  of  Hawaiian  hula-hula  dancers, 
the  only  ones  who  have  gone  abroad  profes- 
sionally, and  his  experiences  with  these  peo- 
ple, whose  language  he  had  made  his  own, 
and  with  whom  he  was  in  full  sympathy, 
would  fill  a  volume.  Their  singular  super- 
stitions; the  sacrifices  of  pig  and  fowl  which 
he  had  at  times  to  permit  them  to  make  in 
order  to  appease  their  wrathful  gods;  the 
gypsy  life  they  led  in  the  interior  of  the  State, 
where,  apart  from  the  settlements,  they  would 
camp  by  a  stream  in  some  canon  and  live  for 
a  little  while  the  life  of  their  beloved  islands; 
the  insults  they  received  in  the  up-country 
towns  from  the  civilized  whites,  who  like  wild 
beasts  fell  upon  them,  and  finally  succeeded 
in  demoralizing  and  disbanding  the  troupe; 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  283 

—these  episodes  he  was  fond  of  enlarging 
upon,  and  his  fascinating  narrative  was  enliv- 
ened with  much  highly  original  and  humorous 
detail. 

Through  all  his  vicissitudes  he  preserved  a 
refinement  which  was  remarked  by  every  one 
who  knew  him.  He  was  the  intimate  of  the 
late  Kings  Lunalillo  I., and  Kalakaua  L,  and  of 
many  Hawaiians  of  rank;  he  had  danced  in 
the  royal  set  at  court-balls;  was  a  member 
and  correspondent  of  several  scientific  soci- 
eties; a  man  of  the  most  eccentric  descrip- 
tion; greatly  loved  by  a  few,  intensely  dis- 
liked by  many,  and  perhaps  fully  understood 
by  no  one.  He  had  learned  to  hate  the 
world,  and  at  times  to  irritate  himself  very 
much  over  it;  doubtless  he  had  cause. 

My  last  night  in  the  little  theater  was  the 
pleasantest  of  all.  The  play  was  over;  dur- 
ing its  action  great  ruby-eyed  moths  with 
scarlet  spots  like  blood-drops  on  their  wings 
flew  through  the  windows  and  dove  headlong 
into  the  foot-lights,  where  they  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom, and  eventually  died  to  slow  music; 
and  then  the  rain  came  and  beat  upon  that 
house,  and  it  leaked;  but  umbrellas  were  not 
prohibited;  the  shower  was  soon  over;  we 


284  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

shook  our    locks    like    spaniels,  and    laughed 
again;   and  it  was  all  very  tropical. 

Late  in  the  night  Proteus  and  I  were  sup- 
ping in  the  green-room,  when  he  told  me  in  a 
stage  whisper  how  night  after  night,  when 
the  place  was  as  black  as  a  tomb,  he  had 
heard  a  light  footfall,  a  softly  creaking  floor, 
and  a  mysterious  movement  of  the  furniture; 
how  twice  a  dark  figure  stood  by  his  bedside 
with  fixed  eyes,  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo; 
there  was  enough  moonlight  in  the  room  to 
reveal  the  outline  of  this  figure,  and  to  shine 
dimly  through  it  as  through  folds  of  crape. 
And  often  there  were  voices  whispering 
audibly,  and  it  was  as  if  the  disembodied  had 
returned  to  play  their  parts  again  before  a 
spectral  audience  come  from  the  graves  of  the 
past;  and  he  was  sure  to  hear  at  intervals, 
above  the  ghostly  ranting,  the  soft  patter  of 
applause — "Like  that,"  said  Proteus,  starting 
from  his  chair,  as  a  puff  of  wind  extinguished 
the  lamp  and  left  us  in  awful  darkness.  We 
listened.  I  heard  it,  or  thought  I  heard  it; 
and  though  a  gentle  rain  was  falling,  I  rushed 
out  of  the  place  bristling  like  a  porcupine. 

Once  more  I  look  from  the  seaward  window 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  285 

of  the  Legation  upon  the  field  where,  in  days 
long  gone,  so  many  histrionic  honors  were 
won.  In  the  midst  of  it  an  itinerant  phe- 
nomenon, "the  celebrated  armless  lady,"  has 
for  the  moment  pitched  her  tent;  presently 
no  doubt,  the  corner  lot  will  be  absorbed  by 
that  ever-increasing  caravansary,  the  Royal 
Hawaiian  Hotel,  and  a  series  of  semi-detached 
villas  for  the  accommodation  of  its  guests  will 
spring  up  under  the  palms. 

Were  the  old  theater  still  standing,  the  leafy 
lattice  of  the  green-room  would  be  directly 
opposite;  I  might,  in  such  a  case,  by  stretch- 
ing forth  my  hands,  part  the  vines  and 
look  once  more  into  the  haunted  chamber. 
Perhaps  he  wpuld  be  sitting  there  in  pajamas 
and  slippers,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  arms 
of  his  chair,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands  as 
was  his  wont  when  his  monologue  ran  dreamily 
into  the  past.  Perhaps  there  would  come 
those  pauses,  so  grateful  even  in  the  most 
interesting  discourse,  when  we  said  nothing, 
and  forgot  that  there  was  silence  until  it  was 
emphasized  by  the  shudder  of  leaves  that 
twinkled  in  the  fitful  summer  gale. 

But  no!  The  long  silence,  unbroken  ever- 
more, has  come  to  him,  and  there  is  little 


286  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

left   to  tell    of  a  tale  that  ended    tragically. 

I  often  wondered  what  fate  was  in  reserve 
for  Proteus;  in  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  a 
climax  seemed  inevitable;  yet  the  few  bits  of 
tattered  and  mildewed  scenery  leaning  against 
the  fence,  the  weights  of  the  drop  curtain,  like 
cannon  balls,  half  buried  in  the  grass,  and  the 
bier  over  which  Hamlet  and  Laertes  were 
wont  to  mouth — now  standing  in  the  midst  of 
an  unrecognizable  heap  of  rubbish — are  not 
less  heeded  than  is  the  memory  of  one  who 
was  a  distinguished  character  in  his  time. 

He  fell  upon  evil  days,  was  hurried  out  of 
the  kingdom  to  suffer  the  slings  and  arrows 
of  outrageous  fortune;  contumely,  humilia- 
tion, abject  poverty — these  were  his  compan- 
ions in  an  exile  which  he  endured  with  heroic 
fortitude.  At  last  he  found  asylum  in  his 
native  town,  but  not  the  one  he  would  have 
chosen,  nor  the  one  of  which  he  was  deserv- 
ing ;  yet  that  he  was  grateful  for  even  this  much 
is  evident  from  the  tenor  of  a  letter  which  I  re- 
ceived from  him  in  his  last  days.  He  writes : 

"If  you  could  see  and  know  how  restricted 
my  present  life  is,  you  would  realize  how  more 
than  welcome  your  letter  was 

uln  your  reference  to    the    past,  my    mind 


THE    DRAMA    IN    DREAM-LAND  2S/ 

went  with  you,  as  it  has  often  done  without 
you,  back  to  the  pleasant  hours  we  have  spent 
together.  Often  in  my  loneliness  I  recur  to 
them,  with  the  same  gratitude  that  a  traveler 
feals  when  he  recalls  to  mental  view  the  oases 
that  softened  the  weariness  of  the  desert. 

"I  hope  I  am  as  thankful  as  I  should  be  for 
the  power  of  memory;  in  the  present  darkness 
I  have  many  bright  pictures  of  the  past  to 
look  upon:  these  are  rny  consolation. 

"I  have  to  be,  as  the  Hebrews  term  it,  in  <a 
several  house' ;  I  am  in  a  large,  well-heated, 
well-ventilated  upper  room  with  a  south- 
easterly aspect ; I  see  no  one  but  the  physicians, 
the  superintendent,  and  my  especial  attendant. 

"In  this  seclusion  from  the  world  in  which 
I  have  seen  so  much  variety,  you  may  well 
believe  I  have  leisure  for  thought  and  retro- 
spection. How  many  experiences  I  would 
love  to  live  over  again!  how  many  I  would 
gladly  efface  from  the  records  of  memory! 

"In  the  vacuity  of  my  present  condition  I 
long  for  occupation,  but  my  misfortune  pre- 
cludes the  hope  of  it.  Only  one  thing  is  cer- 
tain: I  must  try  to  be  content,  and  give  an 
example  of  resignation  if  lean  do  no  othergood. 

"I  have  gone  through  this  sorrowful   detail 


288  HAWAIIAN    LIFE 

because  you  requested  it,  and  I  regret  to  give 
you  the  pain  of  reading  it  ....  Write  when 
you  will;  a  letter  from  you  will  bring  with  it 
a  sense  of  the  light  which  I  have  once  known 

— now  gone  forever." 

Of  course  I  wrote  again — on  the  instant; 
but  before  my  letter  had  reached  that  melan- 
choly house  the  telegraph  had  flashed  through- 
out the  continent  news  of  his  ignoble  death. 
For  Proteus  was  none  other  than  he  who, 
through  the  irony  of  fate,  came  to  be  known 
as  "The  Salem  Leper." 

Whether  he  was  or  was  not  a  leper  is  a 
question  upon  which  the  doctors  disagree; 
but  I  know  that  his  life  for  two  years  before 
he  found  shelter  in  the  almshouse  of  his  native 
town  was  of  the  most  agonizing  description. 
Perfidious  gossip  hunted  him  down;  vile  slan- 
der drove  him  from  door  to  door;  his  imagin- 
ation peopled  the  air  with  foes;  and  even  the 
few  true  and  tried  friends  who  stood  by  him 
found  it  difficult  at  time  to  persuade  him  that 
they  were  not  spies  upon  him. 

Oh  death,  where  is  thy  sting!  So  it  seems 
that  even  in  Dream-land  the  drama  is  not  all 
a  delusion,  and  that  in  one  case,  at  least,  the 
reality  was  more  cruel  than  the  grave. 


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